a visit home

"I'm coming home this weekend."

I love hearing these words.

Late Thursday night, I'm sound asleep; I awake with my son telling me he's home. Straight from the Bolt Bus, Alexander goes to a friend's apartment to hang out. I would too if I were his age.

I awake on Friday to uneaten chicken nuggets and fries sitting on my coffee table with no diner in sight. 

Before leaving for work, I ask my semi-sleeping son, "Dinner tonight?"  "I'll let you know." The major attraction of eating with me is that I will pay. That improves my odds for a positive response.

I finish an exhausting day of ringing up little and seeing returns diminish my sales to nothing. "Sushi?" I text. The immediate response is yes.


Alexander and I watch an episode of Law & Order. Eat dinner. Discuss the moral dilemmas the show always raises. And talk about life — his, not mine. After dinner Alexander meets up with some friends.

Saturday morning Alexander is up early. Before leaving for work, I enlist his help and that of my very nice and very strong neighbor in flipping and rotating my mattress. It's been about five years since this was last done so I'm way overdo. 



Saturday night Alexander and I again have dinner together. When my son suggests having our sandwich, I know exactly what he means.  Our sandwich is something we created at Agata's deli counter — prosciutto, arugula, mozzarella, and avocado,with honey mustard and balsamic on a roll. 

Alexander has a friend over later and they go out long after I'm asleep. I don't realize he's even gone out until he tells me he's home around 3:30. I'm glad I didn't know or I'd have been worried.

Today is Easter and Alexander is meeting his grandparents for brunch.  He has a special relationship with them, and I am so grateful for their involvement in his life.

My son seems happy, and therefore so am I.