September 3,1847

Dear Journal,

My eyes opened to the flowerpot on my desk. I was too tired to lift my head off my pillow. So I just lay there for a while.

Later that morning, my son and my daughter (Martha) wanted to have breakfast. I baked something, but it wasn’t the greatest. My wife Mary is the person who cooks.

Then I went to go teach. That was my job at the time. My 11-year-old son was in the class I taught. He didn’t really like it because whenever he talks, he has to put his nose in a knothole in the wall.