On how your email finds me.

My husband was genuinely excited. I worried it was an opportunity to introduce our son to some generation-defining trauma. At least he would be too young to remember.

Anyway, it turned out all right. O. sat in my husband’s lap, both of them transfixed. I took a picture of them together on our kitchen floor, eyes glued to the live feed and full of wonder.

After a few minutes, there was hardly anything to see anymore—a shining speck of light in a flat blue sky. My son looked at me and shrugged. Mama, where did they go?

The news that even astronauts have Outlook problems is, of course, grimly hilarious. Apparently even space isn’t refuge from the various ways we drive ourselves insane.

Thank you for reaching out. That’s on my radar. I’m a bit out of pocket right now. Let’s circle (the moon and) back.