The oldest one, Ruby. Is divine. Have I mentioned that?
About a month ago during a marathon room cleaning session (she asked for my help & made me promise not to proclaim my horror at her sloth too aggressively). I agreed to the conditions and got to work.

About half way through she said she needed to talk to me about something, something serious but that it had to wait till the room was organized, dusted & otherwise squared away. My heart was a billion hummingbirds bursting out of my thorax. Lying flat on my belly, right arm outstretched, fingertips gripping the tail end of the vacuum hose, I scoured the underbelly of her bed. Quickly.

So, I said, brushing dust fragments from my shirt, what's up? I WAS DYING. I plopped down on her bed and looked at her. But she was moving at the speed of light. She was here! No there! On that! Over there! "Uhm... mom?" "Yeah, baby?" "I need your help", she squeaked out.

Fuck. I was ready, though. I have been preparing, training for these moments. Even still, I could smell the sweat in my armpits. What. The. Hell?!

It turns out that my ooey, gooey, luscious baby girl wanted help with her homework. That she wanted me to bug her about it, to question her (vigorously) when she said she didn't have any. That it made her feel bad NOT to do it and really good TO do it and would I please help her.

Help you by being your mother? Yes. I accept. Holy shit do I love this kid.

Fast forward to last night: I query in my usual manner "Got any homework?" And guess what I got for an answer? Forget it, I'll tell you. She grabs me. GRABS ME and hugs me and kisses me and says: "thank you so much for following through on our agreement, mom. I love you."

I mean, seriously? She's mine?