Three mornings in the past week I have woken up and ambled into the kitchen to find it other than how I left it the night before. The pantry light it on. There is a torn-open tea bag and some cracked cardamom pods on the counter. The kettle is off its dock. I leave the kitchen clean and orderly when I go to bed at night, so these messes stand out.
She is 11, and she can now easily outlast us. We collapse into bed at night while she still has plans and the energy to carry them out. Thankfully those plans are only for making tea. For now.