A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

argument I want to have. I love the practice of yoga. But teaching
yoga can be repetitive, mundane. I couldn’t do that for the rest of my
life. I love what I do. I love the miracle of birth.
“What’d they have?” Josh asks, and I tell him a boy.
“Zeppelin,” I say.
He pulls a face. “As in the blimp?” he asks.
I laugh. “As in the band,” I say, not sure it makes it any better.
“Do you want me to wake the kids?” Josh asks, but there’s no
need because I hear them down the hall, their feet hobbling toward
our room. They appear in the doorway, all bedhead and out of joint.
Delilah clutches her doll, Leo his beloved blue blankie. He never
goes anywhere without that thing. He hangs on Delilah’s arm, and
already, at six in the morning, she’s whining at him to stop touching
her. Leo deifies Delilah. He can’t get enough of her. All he wants is to
be with her, in any capacity. He’ll play hours of school, of house.
Delilah, on the other hand, wishes he was a girl, a big sister
preferably.
“Come on, guys,” Josh says as he stands before the floor mirror,
tying a half-Windsor knot into his houndstooth tie. Josh always wears
a tie to work. He’s always well groomed. He wants to look good for
his clients because looking good fosters confidence and respect. I
get that. I stare at his reflection in the mirror. My husband is
incredibly handsome. How did I get so lucky? I often wonder.
The kids jump into bed with me. Before Josh leaves, he tells them
to be good for Mommy. Delilah finds the remote and turns the TV on.
Together we sit quietly in bed watching Bubble Guppies. Delilah lays
her head on my lap and Leo snuggles in closely beside me. I wrap
my arm around him, wishing we could stay like this all day. Ever
since Delilah started kindergarten, our days go by exceptionally fast.
I miss the long, lazy days we used to have, when they were younger.
But before nine o’clock comes, Delilah will be in school, Leo at the
sitter’s and me at work.
I reach for the coffee Josh has left me and take a sip. An hour of
sleep is never enough. The exhaustion wears me down, makes me
feel physically ill.
My phone is on the table beside me, volume turned up because it
has to be. I never have the luxury of powering it down at night,