Deep thoughts, rinse, repeat. The T5T equivalent of a spa vacation.

This week's New Yorker features a longish-but-worth-it essay by a really fantastic writer I know, Ada Calhoun, who spends her days, like I do, library hopping. With peace, quiet, and a coterie of people my mom would call "straight out of Central Casting," libraries are a writing mother's dream. Most of The Fifth Trimester was written at two libraries I will now love forever, The Hampton Library in Bridgehampton, NY, and the quirky, uptight Society Library on East 79th Street in NYC. Here's the twist: At both, I sat just outside of the children's libraries because I found the background hum of little-kid voices inspiring. Where my own children would have been distracting, strangers' kids cued the Whitney Houston ballad "I Believe The Children Are Our Future" in me every time.
Anyway.
I wish I had known back in my own Fifth Trimester that there would, eventually, be spaces beyond my own bath toy-strewn shower where I would do actual creative thinking again. I wish I'd found mine sooner.
Keep your eyes open for yours.