The windows turn into mirrors, black with night, reflecting more than darkness outside. As I turn to respond to my daughter, I see my face frowning with irritation. My body wrenches. Secret thoughts insist, “Isn’t it bedtime already?”
Not quite yet. Teeth are brushed. Jammies are on. Clothes are picked out. But my children need to talk. They need to unload the moments of unrest stifled by the noise of classmates, homework, and sports commitments.
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