Before all of this, Tuesday was Monday’s weird uncle. 

I’d have taken a dozen Mondays over one Tuesday. But now, Tuesday’s just another day that could easily be Saturday or Sunday. 

In the six-and-a-half years we’ve lived in our house, in the ten-and-a-half years we’ve been married, I’ve never sat across the kitchen table from my wife, writing as she sews clothes for a handmade doll, at 1:44 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. 

Aside from our honeymoon and any federal holidays that happened to fall on a Tuesday that gave us a day off, I don’t know that we’ve ever done anything together at 1:44 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. To find a Tuesday on which we were together at 1:44 p.m., we’d have to go back to the days when we worked together, running the local weekly newspaper, scrambling as the weekly deadline loomed the next morning. 

That’s a lot of Tuesdays at 1:44 p.m. to not see each other.

And that’s just one particular minute.

There’s a lot to hate about the situation we’re in globally. But it’s 1:44 p.m. on a Tuesday, and Alison and I are creating things together again.

I sort of love that a lot.