I see him coming up the incline of our little cul-de-sac, hanging on to the trumpet case for dear life and dragging the suitcase he uses for books behind him. I had meant to be home ten minutes earlier to meet my kids at the bus stop -- ten points off the good mom test for today! When we arrive home, the DQ is already there. "Mom I stood in the rain for five minutes waiting for you" she says accusingly, dressed in the spring uniform of polo shirt, kilt and knee socks. "But you knew where the key was," I pointed out -- it's been in the same place for about 3 years. "I forgot" she lobs back with the perfect illogic of adolescence.
When it's just you, the cats (one normal and one ADD cat) and the computer for most of the day, two kids carooming through the kitchen door at 3:30 is invogorating, but also brings unpredictability, resistance, and dirty dishes everywhere but in the sink.
Those of us who had difficulty conceiving, or miscarried, or got married when we were older may bring a particular appreciation to even the most chaotic days -- but for the grace of God, parenthood might not have happened for us. "I want vegetarian chili" says the DQ, going downstairs to watch TV with her brother before she starts her homework. 'And you expect me to make it?" I say, but indulgently, aware that these moments are precious, and ordinary and blessed.
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