"I sang Jesus Love Me and he quieted down," Jack whispers from top bunk.
I grope in the dark, a body pillow lumbered to the floor. I feel the bumpy curve of Joe's spine curled around blankie-boy. Sacked out, sleep fresh on his skin, he groans as I heave him into bed.
"He fell out," I say.
"Sleep good, Jack," I whisper.
"Wuv you, Mom," Joe breaks in.
"Love you," I say. "Love you, both." I lilt to bed on sleep-wobbly legs, the dreg ends of Jesus Loves Me skirting behind.
5552. "I like Jesus a lot," Myra says. "And I really like the Meter Reader. I watched where he goes. He lives REALLY close."
5553. We all get a solid hour of fun at Mom's house before Jack pukes, and we all scatter home.
5554. The pukes gradually move through three of the seven of us, me included. Nothing's so sweet as being well again.
5555. I note again the great wealth of help Jane contributes to our home when it winds up missing the morning she's sick. She recovers in time to run the house while I'm down. And somehow she makes it look easy.
5556. Craig and I attend a conference together. We feel again that good feeling of tracking together on ideas we enjoy.
5557. Then we crash for a movie before bed. We agree; While You Were Sleeping is a classic. I'm voting for Pure Luck next.
5558. My mom turns 60. Each year just keeps getting better, a friendship deep and complex, as wide and open as the horizon.
5559. Fresh tomatoes in the garden, bowls full.
5560 Craig spoils me with pizza for Sunday lunch.
5561. I keep finding graces of love, like Jesus Loves Me in the night. Goodwill. Goodwill encircles our steps.
Thanks again, Mom, for the pics.