study sessions run till 8 every evening this month. the caregiver has started leaving me a note about his day
it began because i asked her once what he'd eaten. now there's a page on the dining table every night. what he ate, what he refused, who he played with downstairs, and a line or two of things he said. tonight's: 'asked why bapa's office has no windows. i said ask bapa.' he's asleep by the time i'm in. i read the note standing in the kitchen with my bag still on. it's the nicest part of my day, which is a bit sad when i think about it.