Last night after we left my Moms we went to my sisters house for a short visit. My sister made sure to have sparklers and smoke bombs on hand.  She loves kids and she especially loves mine.

She looks awful.  I hope the next few months give her the time to get back on track health wise.  She was with Ryan the last time he had a seizure after having a night with no sleep.  Her input was, go home.  I was there and his seizures are no fun to be a part of.

The boys and I hit the road. They understood I was really tired and had a long drive in front of me.  The highways on southern Long Island, through southern Queens, Brooklyn, and Staten Island are super curvy and ALWAYS have a ton of construction.  The boys chatted nicely with me and were the balm for the tough part of the ride.   We bonded in a way we never get to.  I’ve driven this drive a million times between the time I moved to Philly in 1985 and last night, and I have to say it was the best ride ever.  We hit New Jersey and the boys and I went into a rest stop to pee. For the first time in a few days I breathed out. The kids and I hit the family bathroom. I was low on cash as my husband got paid at midnight.  We found three quarters in the car. Not enough for both boys to get a treat, so they happily left the rest stop.  We filled up on super cheap gas and both kids told me repeatedly how much they loved me.  We drove on the very straight New Jersey Turnpike and I said to the boys it is quiet time. Suddenly, both yawned three times and with an, I love you Mom, they passed out.

While I was driving the New Jersey Turnpike my Mom called to see how I was doing.  I told her I was getting closer to home. I called my husband as soon as I hit Pennsylvania and in forty five minutes I was hitting my driveway with kids who were dead asleep.  My husband helped me get them into bed and helped me unload the car. He knows how hard the New York visits are. I get subtly berated for having tattoos, for doing drugs in the 80′s, and for not having the most perfect house and family.

My mom thinks she is above everyone. She does not like wild children, she did not have them nor was she one, she hates people who drink, although she allows herself a half a glass a wine a day, her house is sanitized to perfection, although she lives alone.  I am not or will never be prefect. I weigh too much.  I have kids who are not “normal”, I am the worst at home decorating, and even though or house is clean it is never clean enough.

My husband was so happy to see me last night. I don’t need to be perfect. I was happier than I could put into words to be in my imperfect house with my imperfect kids and workaholic husband. Life does not get better than that.