If there had actually been robins's eggshells to find on our hunt this afternoon.
If Winton had stopped running so Clara and I could look properly.
If dinner had involved more eating, less spilling.
If Hardie hadn't pillaged the laundry basket and eaten a hole into Clara's new but soup-soiled Easter t-shirt while we were in the bathroom.
If I hadn't punched myself in the mouth when I lost my grip on Winton's pajama shirt as I was trying to get his arm into a sleeve.
If last night I hadn't displaced my anxiety about being department chair next year onto the need to prune the noisy, house-scraping tree growing through the power line leading to our house and had instead actually slept.