Dad and the big kids were back to school today. I was feeling a bit nostalgic after such a wonderful Christmas break so that when they left I gave them hugs and thanked them. I made the boys French toast for breakfast, then suggested they play a game together in the boys’ upstairs bedroom, next to ours. I wanted them close, quiet, and not on technology. They played nicely while I started on straightening our room after weeks of neglect.

When I came out to get a garbage bag the boys were out at the dining room table poking at the bread dough I’d laid out that morning. I still wanted to make the poppy seed bread. I had a bag of already ground up poppy seed from my husband’s Aunt Cyndy that had been patiently waiting in the refrigerator to be used. The boys floured the table and rolled out the dough while I mixed up the filling. I sent a picture of smiles to my brother.

We finished the loaves so they could be set in their pans to rise. One of the boys said something like, “See mom? Don’t you miss having us home like this?” I told them I do miss it, and I do. If I’d have had the energy to keep going with them, I gladly would’ve done so. Being with children, even your own, for prolonged periods of time requires tremendous amounts of patience. I don’t mean to imply I always had it, but what I had I abided in.

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