One of the unanticipated side-affects of le grande réarrangement is that I no longer have a television in the living room. For the first time since before Oliver was born.

Over the last 48 hours this has made me realize how frequently I’d pop the TV on simply to avoid doing something else. Now that it’s gone, I’ve no choice but to make sketches of Oliver, read Mary Ruefle, and contemplate the silence.