Her produce drawer was a mess of moldy tangelos. She bought the fruit on a hopeful day in early December just before the holidays sucked the life out of her, dumping her into the end of February with moldering drawer of uneaten citrus. It had been a winter of records–snowfalls, cold temperatures, wind speeds–leaving them trapped in the house when they otherwise might have been out walking. She liked to picture herself briskly pushing the stroller up the hill, the baby giggling. Birds singing. Snow sparkling. She sensed the baby was as anxious as she was, eager to push out of his mother’s arms and explore the world. Instead there were the same walls. The daily sounds–a dog’s bark, birds bickering at the feeder. The routine, always there, unbroken. The rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk of the exersaucer. The mechanical music of the toys and the edgy-drama of her own voice reading the same favored books time and again. Remember this. Remember this. This is important.