chocolate milkshake
the comfort
of my mother’s voice

I am living with my mother again. My husband, three kids and I moved in a few weeks ago so that we could begin a major remodel of our house – a project that is expected to take several months. At first, we all sort of looked at each other in surprise – surprise at how easy it felt. My mother laughed and suggested we sell our house after the remodel. We are fine here together in this small space. Who needs a big house, anyway? Sell it, and we can all travel with the money. Then, gradually, the reality of life in small quarters set in. I still had to deal with the kids, two of them teenagers, and try to smooth the surface between them and my mother. My mother could not find anything in the refrigerator and could not understand what the kids were saying to her half the time. We had hit a rough patch. I felt alternately like a kid myself and like I had another kid to look after, with my mother asking what was for dinner and when would it be ready… My mother was a single mother when she raised my two brothers and me. Life was chaotic then, and she was not around a lot of the time since she had a full time job. We got through it with a sense of humor, and I suspect that same humor will find its way back to us and pull us through these next few months as well.

leaves changing
the slight stoop
in mom’s shoulders


One thought on “At Home

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