“Can I have Cap’n Crunch tonight?”

“No.”

“Can I have Lucky Charms?”

“No. You can’t have any cereal. I made spaghetti.”

“It looks gross. It looks like puke.”

Analise blushed. “Don’t talk like that.”

“You can’t make me eat it.”

I could tell Analise was doing her best not to lose her temper.

“You’re going to eat it.”

“No I’m not.”

“Then you can go to your room hungry. Go.”

He glared at her then pushed away from the table. “Fine. I didn’t want to eat that crap anyway.” He glanced over at me hatefully then stormed up the stairs.

“He’s mean,” Casey said.

Analise was embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said to me.

“I couldn’t handle it,” I said.

“What?”

“Being a parent.”

“Well, apparently neither can I,” Analise said.

“You’re a good mommy,” Casey said.

Analise smiled wryly. “Thanks, sweetie. Would you mind saying grace?”

“Okay.” She reached over and took her mother’s hand. Analise reached over and took mine. “God is good, God is great. Bless the food we eat. Amen.”

“Amen,” I said.

“Amen,” Analise said. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Mama.”

I grinned. Casey really was a cute girl.

Analise dished the pasta out onto our plates. It was delicious, though probably a bit exotic for a kid’s palate. After a few minutes Casey said, “Mom, can I be done?”

Analise looked at Casey’s plate. “You didn’t eat very much.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you like it?”

She didn’t say anything. Analise sighed. “All right. Why don’t you make yourself a peanut butter sandwich? Take one to Christian too.”

“Okay.”

“Then get ready for bed. Don’t forget to brush.”

“‘Kay.”

When Casey was gone Analise turned to me with a look of exasperation. “Why do I bother?”

“Kids don’t know what’s good,” I said. “When I was little, my neighbor had an avocado tree. We thought they were the grossest things on the planet. We used to just throw them at each other. Now I pay two dollars for one.”

“I know. They’d be happier if I just poured them a bowl of cereal every night. It would make my life a lot easier.”

“Your husband might have something to say about that.”

She frowned. “The thing is, it’s not like I’m taking the easy way out. I get home from work and I’m exhausted, but then I cook and do the dishes. It’s never-ending.”

“It’s like they say, ‘A mother’s work is never done.’”

“Only when you die,” Analise replied. “Then you have eternity to think about everything you did wrong and how you screwed up your children.”

“You sound like an argument for birth control.”

“There are times I think Planned Parenthood could follow me around with a camera and use the video to keep young women from getting pregnant.”