Back from vacation and relieved to see we look happy in the photos we took. Because while we were there I wasn’t too sure. All that togetherness in the car and the hotel room felt like an endurance test, or a reality TV show. “A family of four trapped in a confined space for 72 hours. See who cracks first. Will it be Mom? Look at her twitchy eye. She’s already on the edge…”

We’re not used to being within touching distance of each other for hours on end. Some of us do not touch gently. Some of us hit and slap. Some of us are not very civilized. It makes the ones of us who are supposed to be civilized become uncivilized in the time it takes to scream “STOP IT!” four times fast.

When we pulled into the driveway of our house today, Boy said, “I love this place.” I do too. It has more than one room.

Watching the sunrise over Aransas Bay and thinking about a sunrise 40 years ago over the Gulf. I stood between my parents’ folding chairs on the deck of a weathered beach house as a V of pelicans flew by like remnants of pterodactyls. I unrolled a cinnamon roll straight from the oven. Standing near them with the pink sky overhead and a warm roll on my tongue I felt a peace that comes only rarely.

I don’t spend as much time with my kids as my mom spent with me. Yesterday, the first day of our short vacation, I yelled a lot. I’m hoping for better today. Hoping to recreate for them some of the memories I have, some of that serenity and peace.

As a general rule I try not to cry in front of my kids. Once they saw me cry because I couldn’t find my wedding ring. I burst into tears so fast it surprised even me. Usually I hide in the bathroom or wait until they’re fast asleep before I have myself a good cry.

But with my aunt’s passing, we’ve all lost someone dear to us and they’ve seen me cry plenty in the last few days. Their reaction to my tears has been telling for me.

Girl comforts me the way I comfort her when bad thoughts grip her at bedtime, when her mind seizes on some incident of the day and won’t let go.

“Don’t think about sad things,” Girl tells me, patting my shoulder. “Think about something happy. Like when we were in the swimming pool. That was happy, right Mom?”

Boy comforts me the way I comfort him when he cries about Guatemala. He hugs my waist hard and wipes my tears with his finger. “It’ll be okay, Mom,” he says.

So I see that nurturing can be a two-way street between mother and child. Sometimes it’s reassuring to take comfort from a small, firm hand.

I’m looking through my old spiral notebook. Here’s what’s in it:

– Pink crayon drawing of Spongebob
– Guest list for Girl’s birthday party
– Guest list for Boy’s birthday party
– Hangman game spelling I LOVE YOU
– Detailed medication schedule for Boy, Girl and me when we all had the flu
– More Spongebob drawings — this time mine — drawn in an airplane to entertain someone
– Prayer list from my old church
– Detailed checklist of all the things I want to do to my house, room by room
– List written by Boy in red marker of Star Wars toys he wants, including prices
– Menu for last year’s Father’s Day gathering at our house
– Ideas for science fiction novel about a mom who gets a computer chip implanted in her head to help her keep up with all her shit.