Evening walk by the river; joyful 4-year-old challenges grandma to join the trio of joggers.
Then a spill, a scraped knee. Mommy piggy-backs the last mile to the car.
Home again, to a place I don’t own: perfect anyway.
I chop celery and onion for tuna salad. A is showered, nestled in bed. The music of his mother’s bed time story drifts into the kitchen, “The cochlea…the tiny bones inside the ear drum…” C in her room, chuckling over something she’s read online.
I shake my head in wonder; look up from the Vidalia. I am living the life of my dreams. The clean, calm peace of a Sunday evening. No one is angry. No one has secrets. No one thinks I should be something I am not. I steady myself against the counter and whisper my thanks. And wonder how I got here from there.