It would have been really easy to sleep in this morning. It was so gray when we woke up that I had to check the clock to know what time it was. Now, a couple hours later, a chilly rain is falling steadily, stalling any plans I had to run errands or walk around the lake. Josie and I are cuddled in the recliner, cozy in fleece and denim, and through the open window, past the hiss and trickle of water on the roof and in the gutters, I can hear that the neighbor's four year old is melting down again. Possibly he's sad at not being able to play outside, or wanted a cupcake rather than sliced apple for snack? Maybe his baby sister just looked at him wrong. He's a touchy one, that kid. I glance down at Josephine, beatifically nursing, and think to myself that she will, of course, be a laid-back toddler, just as she is an affable baby. And then I think that I'm deluding myself: all kids go through a random-tantrum stage. Wind lifts the roller shade on the window next to our chair–I can smell the dampness outside. It reminds me of England, which, in turn, makes me want a nice hot cup of tea. Guess it's not summer anymore.