Rock

He calls me the rock of the family.  And I am deeply pleased.

Do we embrace the compliments we are given, or do we see them smile and then let them go.

I am so new to this family.  Am I a rock?

And one of the boys throws me compliments all weekend.  Little sentimental comments that make me know he thinks highly of me.  I hear him say, that is a mini-Meg.  I ask him who, and he points out a little baby with curly red hair, that baby is a mini you he says, look how cute she is.

And the one son, the one I worry about the most, given a choice he shops with me not his dad, becoming my sherpa.  And when I gently tell him to get up he does, though his brother usually has to kick him.

I tell them all, your dad needs help with this, he cannot carry the burden alone, and it needs to be done.  They all pitch in, most of all the one who worries me.

Worried about a medical exam.  I am quiet at breakfast.

Don’t worry until you have to, he says I have your back.

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