We're not trading bracelets or buying tickets

but the boys are in their cereal box is empty again era

Aquariums and terrariums and moss and piano music era

Plastic toy soldiers and rectangular electronic devices era

Stinky socks in the mudroom sink (please tell me this era ends?)

Tuck is in his marching band era

Hank is in his rollerblade era

and Tolliver is still in his peanut butter era

We are forever in our overdue library books era

Flowers on the counter, children who-knows-where

graphic novels and gaga ball on the trampoline era

We are in our poke bowl, arugula with everything, hot tea with honey era

overwhelm and anguish and indescribable delight era

Finally in our sneaking out without hiring a babysitter era

I am in my motherhood is a job and a joy era

my I love that for you era

still solidly in my fall asleep on the couch era

cloth napkins and scented candles and hot coffee and cat on a lap 

In my I've been waiting for all of this and didn't even know it era

special teams

Over the years I have come to recognize, without even looking, exactly what a buckeye sounds like as it tumbles from the washing machine, hitting the hardwood while clothes are being transferred to the dryer.

Here's to another fall of pregame traditions and cheesepuff consumption, full pockets and completed passes.

pointing toward an October full of promise

haircuts and Halloween costume shopping and the Homecoming dance

the snuggliest cat and cousin play, cursive practice and the choir coffee house show

baseball and marching band and new bedroom situations

the Move-a-thon and too many tomatoes

books and baking and joyfully busy boys