I'm standing at the stove. There are pots. There are smells. Dinner is literally happening six inches from their faces. And here it comes: "Mooom, what's for dinner?" WHAT DO YOU THINK, BABY. It's a mystery. We're all finding out together. After they're in bed, porch time. One exhale. And I remind myself: they ask because they're excited, not because they're ungrateful. Mostly.
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