I Feel Guilty

Two weeks later and Mom was back from Germany, with apparently zero jet-lag, despite being delayed longer than expected on the return flight because a food truck ran into their plane on the tarmac in Copenhagen.

She had returned to the welcome home present of finding Irish with symptoms of either strep throat or mono.

Sometime around dinner, Puck took off Yali’s shoes to help get him ready for bed. He sniffed Yali’s feet.

“EEW!” (Sniff.) “EEEEW! Ha ha! Yali, you’re taking after me!”

Dinner was over. Gloria was wedding dress shopping with Ansel’s fiancé. Oxbear was fiddling at a bluegrass rehearsal. And I was getting Puck ready for bed. He only decided to come out five times once I had tucked him in.

First time: “Mom, I REALLY need you to put that brick bank Lego set on my birthday list.”

Second time: “Mom, I REALLY need you to remind me to study more for my science test tomorrow morning.”

Third time: “Mom, I accidentally took someone else’s test review paper home today.”

Fourth time: “Mom, I feel guilty. When I was playing Roblox I wrote something in the chat box to the other player. I said, ‘Dang you.’”

Fifth time: “Mom, I just feel like I need to tell you everything bad that I did today. But I think I told you already.”

Martin Luther.

“Bud, it’s okay. You can confess more tomorrow if you need to. Right now, you need sleep.”

“Okay … can I do a cartwheel into bed?”