Cat Wright

Mac-N-Cheese

It was a typical weekend morning. The kids were already up and about playing rowdily in the living room, my son, wearing an eye patch, standing on the couch, my daughter on the floor begging him to let her read her book and stop pestering her. My fiance was off in the kitchen gulping down coffee in a futile attempt to keep up and I - I was soaking in the spring air on the porch (I already knew better than to try and pretend I had energy to deal with those two). Life was good, better than it had been in a long time. Sure my fiancé and I argued from time to time, a situation usually remedied the next day with MacNCheese and a Dr. Pepper (who needs flowers). And yes, the kids were definitely a handful too, but most of the time they were handfuls of joy. I had fought and clawed and sobbed through foster homes, abusive partners, and nasty break-ups to be sitting right there on that porch smiling at the sound of my fiance lecturing the kids in the other room. What sweet, totally normal, bliss it had been...and then the phone rang.