After our second kid, I started measuring how busy a day was by the size of the laundry pile. On the big days, I usually got to the end without thinking about anything.

Evenings with my wife and kids weren't bad. Sometimes it caught on something in me, that "not bad" was the only way I could put it.

Once in a while, out of nowhere, I'd remember the smell of an eraser. I don't know why. I'd just remember, and then try to forget again, right away.