“Mom, you haven’t changed in ten years!” The words, which bubble out of him in a cascade of filial adoration, are punctuated by the slamming of a car door.
My oversized bag slides off my shoulder, catching in the crook of my elbow, as I juggle grocery sacks, my cellphone, an over-burdened key-ring, and supper. After much maneuvering, the key turns, and I push the door open with my knee.
“Oh, honey, of course I have.”
Loudly, I drop the bags to the table and drag my free hand through my hair.
“You just don’t notice because you see me every day.”
He molests the bags in search of chicken while two pairs of canine eyes study him, lending support. He withdraws the box he’d been seeking, and wisely places his body between it and the closest dog.
“Go on, Chevy…”, he murmurs to the most aggressive of the two.
Moving to the cabinet, he chooses a plate as I shelve the groceries.
“Ok to use a washable plate?” I like his description.
“Sure, honey.” My voice echoes off rows of cardboard, aluminum, and glass.
As I emerge from the pantry, he looks up from his dinner and finishes chewing, in a hurry to offer his insight.
“Ok…” He swallows. “Maybe your cheeks…a little.”
“My cheeks?” My chuckle comes from behind the refrigerator door.
He swallows again before clearing his throat and blurts, “Well, not those cheeks!”
I smile into the vegetable crisper, knowing he has no idea that it really doesn’t matter which ones he meant.
© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll
Are We There Yet? 
