Gray reads at the third grade level. And according to the babysitter last night he wouldn't come out of his toy box. So. Evens out.
He reads and I knit and listen. Then we fight over math homework but then we crawl to the finish and I fill folders and line backpacks by the door and wear relief like a sweater, that this is what a good mom does.
We laughed over dinner on our date night at how Ivy will sullenly say "Yes, Mother" whenever she is being instructed or corrected, and I can tell it's only to make me feel guilty in her way but it just makes me laugh. Because in the middle of the night she whispers "Mama move over so we can snuggle." She wakes up in our bed more often than not, hands squeezing my upper armflab, but I savor the imprint of her body to mine, for I know this time is so short, and my memory is fading into what tomorrow has waiting on the other side.