(How tidy that sounds: all planned out and neatly contained. In reality, I am sitting limply in the kitchen, looking at the blackened, open apartment window across the alley where the fire was, surrounded by dirty dishes and naked children, wondering where to find the energy I'll need to take two trains across town to the new apartment to begin scouring it with Mr. Proper, and also where I might buy caulk and cat litter this early in the morning.)
Lula will be baptized in Poland at Christmas; that much is decided.
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