Despite his smile, I could tell Arthur was lost in thought. Twirling his spoon in his little fingers, he scooped another bit of oatmeal into his mouth. I watched him, quietly doing dishes. Nothing was the same now. There were no longer fights between him and his sister. My wife wasn’t here anymore, humming some rock song off-key as she cooked breakfast. It was just me and Arthur now, sitting quietly and talking tersely about oue days. Today was no different.

“Are you done, darling?” I asked Arthur after a few minutes.

“Mhm.”

“Bring me your bowl.”

I heard the chair scrape, the small footsteps, then felt his hand on my back. I took the bowl from him and turned to wash it. I was surprised to see him still standing there when I turned to dry the bowl.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“It’s almost the eighteenth,” he murmured.

I sighed. It was the two-year anniversary of the death of his twin sister, Artemis, after she'd succumbed to leukemia. Arthur was so young that I was honestly surprised he remembered. I knelt down and put my hand on his shoulder.

“Do you think Mommy remembers,” he asked softly.

We hadn’t talked about his mother in ages. My ex-wife, Shaina, went to jail a few months ago. Unfortunately, the police took us both into custody on an otherwise perfect Saturday afternoon, so my five-year-old son was horrified to be pulled from his cartoons to see his mothers being dragged out in handcuffs. I was freed a few hours after being dragged away, but I could tell my son was deeply affected by it. Even now, I could tell it was taking a lot for him to not pull away from me and go hide.

"I'm sure she does. She still loves you guys, sweetheart. Nothing's ever going to change that."

"I know," he murmured, though his tone made it seem more like it was inevitable instead of a good thing.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him softly.

"I miss Nana," he said. "And Artie."

"I miss them too," I said, though misding Shaina's mother was a lie.

My son seeemed to know but didn't say it. Instead, he murmured about going to clean his room and sulked off. I knelt on the floor, watching the door for awhile. My sister-in-law's words rang in my head. He'll never be the same now, Kim. You should just give him up. Though I knew she was being a homophobic bitch, seeing my son sulk for the past few months was killing me. Even if Shaina was acquitted of killing her mother, nothing would be the same. We can't adopt a brother for Arthur like we'd planned, we can't move anywhere without being looked at like elder killers, and Arthur would never forgive either of us. Tears were forming in my eyes as I realized that I was only keeping my son for my own selfish gain and that he might be better off somewhere else.

it was not the teeth. baby has teething pains, but it’s mostly the boredome. she is so young and so quickly is so jaded.

i brought her the morning offering, already expecting her to throw them, or crunch themvor throw and crunch and squeeze AND run it all through her hair. my little angel has this funny expression . she reminds me of Alec Baldwin playing Trump on SNL. so yes, she is smart, and cute, vut why...WHY can’t she eat those eggies?!?!

i tried oatmeal with banana and vanilla flavovred formula. she threw this away. it tastes like a milkshake! how could she not like that?!?!

after breaky, we went walkies. we went shopping. today sophia saw frogs at the seafood aquariums. she was not impressed. but the durian fruit caught her eye.

I hate durian! the smell is like puke that was warmed up in a poorly cleaned dormroom shared microwave. but we baught a some.

my baby loved the sickly creamy puss that makes up this abomination. we spread this gunk on bread and she just loved it. oooooh that smells bad.

wish i could get her interested in better stuff. maybe hummus. After the only mediterrenean restaurant here closed, i was left, perhaps the best hummus maker in wuhan..

Rustling in the tent, whispers that it’s time to wake up, summer morning light shines through, dew sparkles on the rain fly, grimace before the cold wet shoes go back on, twelve miles to go, a glacial river fording, pack up camp, the stove glows, cowboy coffee’s ready, and so is breakfast, oatmeal in July.

Harriet's bad memory was responsible for a lot of things: the missing and the misplaced, mistakes and misfortune making up her daily life.

As she approached 70, things had gotten a lot worse- at least one important thing was missing from every room she walked into in her house, and it sometimes took all day for her to find what she was looking for.

One particularly hot morning in July, she was considering calling her children for help as she attempted to make herself breakfast. It took her a while to find all of the ingredients: the raisins had somehow ended up in the freezer, and the oats on the top shelf of the cuphoard. By the time she put everything together and sat down with the steaming bowl of oatmeal, her phone rang with the number of her youngest daughter.

"Hi, sweetie." She got up and paced about the kitchen.

As she talked, Harriet noticed that she had accidentally put the raisins in the fridge this time. I was really sure I didn't move them, She thought. I didn't move the oats...

For a moment, she swore she heard a rustle in the dining room. "Dani, was that something on your end?"

"No," her daughter responded. "what did you hear?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, I'll go and check."

She left the phone on, placing it by the oats on the counter before going to the other room.

There, in the same place she left it, was the oatmeal bowl.

The problem was, it was empty.

"Well I never!" She glanced around, searching for the culprit.

"Mom?" Dani asked. "What's happening?"

"Oh, nothing!" Harriet pulled out chairs to checked under the table, before realizing how silly she must be looking.

"Enough of this!" She got back up, and to no one in particular, announced, "If you are going to be taking my food you might as well show yourself to me! Wait- It must be you who's moving my things too!"

What Dani heard next on the other side was her mother's shrieking, followed by an odd gurgling noise. Then, silence.

"Mom? MOM?!"

It seemed that someone- or something- else had wanted oatmeal in July.