My Home, My Reality ....

I drive up the driveway and lug all the grocery bags I can carry. I put down the bags on the kitchen floor, walk to my room as I make a mental note of who among my children are home. Coming out of my room, now dressed in my "housework clothes" - the piece of clothing I wear for just 2-3 hours and send to the hamper after it absorbs the smell of food I cook, I ask where the missing one is. I cook. While cooking, one or all of them take turns in asking what's cooking. I announce "Dinner is ready!" and when all of them are gathered at the kitchen counter or the dining table, we start sharing the highlights of our day.

While they relate their stories with names that are vaguely familiar, I start to attach "incidents" to the names. I confirm them by asking. "Alli is the Filipino Japanese girl who play tennis with Noy?" or "Kevin is the AAPIO friend of Fahad?" or "Chris is the friend of Bea?" This is how I keep up with what is going on in their lives. And even if they tell me that I have asked the same question more than twice before, they willingly answered me. An indication that they "tolerate" my presence in their lives :) For some, this may mean so trivial, but this means so much to me.

Smell of home-cooked dinner, loud banter about my memory lapses, opinions on subjects that just float, thoughts of what the future will look like. My home, my reality, my paradise.