This is what quality time with my son has looked like over the last two weeks. To clarify, this is the most time with him I'll probably have the pleasure of spending for most of the month. I haven't raised them to keep them under my thumb. They know how to think for themselves. I'm letting them test their reason in the real world. He'll be back on the 8th, which gives him four days to spend with his sister, M— before she flies off to the Orient. In between, L— spends a week at her first year of Young Women's Camp. Summer is the epitome of my parental juggling act, the first taste of life with "helicopter" children—land at the pad just long enough to refuel and take off to confront the world again. I know it's the right way to do it because it is exactly the opposite of what I experienced as a kid. That resembled falconry, with the tethers still firmly tied to the ankle. And, hey, my kids are happy.
They check in. We evaluate. I give advice. (I had the porn talk with E on this particular drive, so he didn't sleep the whole time. Thumbs up. Who knew it could go so smoothly, or so well?) We express love and validation. They make new plans and take off again.