In My Family, The Kids Fight Over Broccoli

When I step inside the door, Maya squeals "Cozy's home!" When she hugs my leg, peanut butter on jelly, I can barely relieve my shoulders of my gargantuan backpack without squashing her face. She is wearing an imitation of the yellow sparkly dress that Belle wears in Beauty and the Beast, and a pair of bright orange construction goggles. She is also wielding a plastic screwdriver. It is a fantastic sight.

Max rumbles around the corner, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Bug!" he says, "BUG!" He jumps up and down and points.

Maya detaches herself and shrieks "I'll kill it!" Right before my eyes - remember, I've just walked in the door - she wobbles over to where Max is pointing and jams the screwdriver into a spot on the floor. The bug - poor thing - looks like it has been drawn and quartered. Thus marks the untimely death of yet another boxelder bug, victim to my three year old sister.

Maya tips her head to the side, puts her hands on where her hips will be, and says "Now that's what I'm talking about."

This is home: chaos, play-doh, crusty noses, banging and screaming, pink tutus, light sabers, whining, running bare feet, and lots of hugs and kisses.