30 toward the Omer

gevurah shebhod

She makes us oatmeal. I groan. What was yesterday? I ask. Yesterday you worked a ten-hour day, she says, and then we had pizza, and then you did more set-up.

Ten hours, I think. Ten times three is thirty. She sets a steaming bowl down next to my chair. The dates are at the bottom, she says. I start searching.