"Mom, I don't know if you feel the same way about football as I do," Jane quips from the back seat.
"Yeah?" I say.
"I mean, I like the idea of football, but I sort of get tired of watching the same thing over and over," she says.
I laugh, signal right, and ease into the far lane.
"I would kind of rather just get and update every time they score a point," she says.
"I know just what you mean," I say. Blue reflections of sky spread across the road, I whiz through a puddle. It sprays the front windshield.
"Dad's like, you have to see this great play," she says. "And I'm sort of like, hmm."
I nod, a giggle laced through my thoughts. Another right hand turn, then a left, and we pull up the driveway, home.
"Come on," I say. "Someone unbuckle Joey."
We pile out of the car, into the house, and sidle up to watch the football game. I pop huge bounding bowls of popcorn, and we laugh, and we cheer. And camaraderie springs up there between us. All that tackling and straining toward victory, and something better than football happens. We hold on to it like an invisible thread pulling us together.
5586. Craig travels on a five day retreat with his team from work. Friday comes, and with it, him safely home.
5587. I knit away on a baby blanket, these restless hands busy and productive.
5588. The children surround me while Craig is gone.
5589. "I love this book," Myra says. "It's my best-friend-book."
5590. "Good job, Barry-Bear," Joe says and squeeezes Barry. "You're a good helper," he says.
5591. "Are lollipops fruit?" Lu wants to know. "Myra says they ARE."
5592. "How has your eye been feeling?" I ask Lucy. "I don't know," she says and looks at her palm, "I haven't been feeling it."
5593. Another week closes. Another week begins. The count down continues: we pass week 38.