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“Shit!”
    â€œMom, you need to put a dollar in the jar.” Ava came into the kitchen and grabbed a triangle of the sandwich before I could stop her. “Is this peanut butter?” Ava asked, holding the sandwich up in the very tips of her fingers as though it were poisoned.
    â€œYes, it’s peanut butter. You love PB&J sammies. What’s the deal?”
    Ava rolled her eyes. “First of all, stop calling them ‘sammies.’ You sound really lame.”
    â€œWell, excuse me,” I replied, tucking the other triangles into Josie’s reusable sandwich bag, which was covered with bumblebees and tulips. “And I’m not lame. I’m your very cool, very hip mother.”
    â€œSecondly,” Ava said, ignoring me, “you know you can’t send peanut butter to school. We need that soy nut butter crap.”
    â€œShit,” I said, quickly followed by, “Don’t say it. I know.” I pointed a finger at the jar on the windowsill, which was half-full of dollar bills. “I’ll put my money in today and after school you need to put a dollar in for using the word crap .” It had been my idea to do the swear jar, after watching some parenting show while I was at the dentist’s office trying to ignore the drilling in my mouth. But it had backfired, as I was responsible for at least 70 percent of the money in there. I reached into the pantry and grabbed two protein bars and two fruit cups. “There’s no time to make more sandwiches, so protein bars it is.”
    â€œFine,” Ava said, taking her lunch bag from me and putting it in her backpack. “I’m tired of sandwiches anyway.”
    â€œWhere’s your sister?”
    â€œShe’s changing again. Something about not feeling the color pink today.”
    â€œJosie!” I shouted up the stairs, just as David started coming down. “Sorry, can you grab Josie? They’re going to be late.”
    David turned and went back up the two stairs he had come down, shouting Josie’s name as he did.
    I finished packing Josie’s lunch and tucked it into her backpack, mentally running over all the things I needed to do before they left for the day. My mind felt foggy, an irritating side effect of the medication I took to thwart the debilitating migraines that struck every month or so.
    David and Josie came into the kitchen, looking as if they’d coordinated their outfits. Josie was dressed in black leggings and a tunic, and David wore his all-black paramedic uniform. “You look lovely.” I kissed Josie on top of her head. “Black is a great color on you.”
    â€œThank you, Momma,” she said, her chin tilting up and a smile coming across her freckled face at the compliment.
    â€œOkay, get going or you’ll miss the morning bell.” I kissed the two of them on their cheeks, foreheads, noses and lips, just like I did every morning. Ava wiped her lips afterward, but Josie came back for a second kiss. I was grateful I had a few more years of kisses and snuggles and Josie thinking I walked on water before the hormones kicked in and I became her “lame,” forgetful, cussing mom instead of her hero.
    David pecked me on the lips when I handed him his lunch, and I pulled him in for another kiss. “Have a great day,” I said.
    â€œYou, too.” He smiled at me, his gaze settling on me in a way that made me feel warm inside. “How’s the head?”
    â€œBetter,” I said. “Hannah’s bringing me a coffee, so I’ll be right as rain in no time.” David kissed me again, and then in a rush they were out the door, and suddenly all was quiet in the house again. With a sigh, I sat at the kitchen table and rubbed the back of my neck while I checked my inbox filled with spam offers and PTA to-dos, impatiently waiting for Hannah, her news and my double-shot latte.

10
    HANNAH
    We had an off-site photo shoot and I