My son is home! He arrived late last night and leaves again on Monday night. He called from the bus to tell his sister he was craving New York City pizza. So that's what we had for dinner last night. He looks good, seems relaxed and easy in himself. He is on the long couch reading the second book of Hunger Games, while watching the Knicks play the Sixers in basketball. Across from him, my girl is on the love seat next to a young man who is visiting. Like my daughter, he has just gotten into a school he wants to attend. The two of them are doing calculus and giggling over private jokes they think no one can hear, while also watching the Knicks. My husband is in the armchair next to them, also watching the Knicks. I am behind them with the armoire open, tapping out this word memory, because my children have forbidden me to pick up my camera today. Their protests do not make for good photographs, so unless I decide to ignore their protests, these words will have to do. It's a sweet Sunday afternoon. All of us cheering or moaning in unison depending on what's happening in the game. My daughter wanted to introduce this young man to her brother. She told him that he had to be on his best behavior because her brother is more protective of her than her dad. This might actually be true.