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I am lucky because my big kids, all three who are out of the home, and including spouses of the two who are married, like to come home. Most moms I know wish their children were home more because they miss them. And I would, desperately, if I didn't get to see them as often as I do.

Who am I kidding? I still miss them not living here. It is weird to have your heart leave your body and go live somewhere else. I am so grateful every time I hear the rumble of Harper's truck in the driveway before he breezes in through the door with all manner of surprises. We cook, thrift, sew, fish, work, study, play, and help each other with projects. By the time they all leave after a weekend, the fridge is empty and the house is a wreck. But it's a good tornado that makes my world go around.

Last weekend Grace and Kyle were here, and I noticed them working a lot. They both work remotely, he a software engineer and she an attorney. The downside is that sometimes without the external structure of a workplace and set hours, the boundary between work and home is hard to hold. And because they are trying to save money to build a house, they both take on extra work.

Grace, a free-thinking creative explosion of a human with at least a touch of ADHD, struggles to keep everything organized. Kyle revealed that his weekend project was to build her an app, some kind of software thing that would do it for her. Apparently big firms have programs they subscribe to that do this; Grace's day job does. But the one Kyle created is tailored just for Grace Faulkenberry Sadler Law, for all the cases she takes on in her side hustle. Like Kyle, it is brilliant.

I was so touched by this act of tender loving care for my child. I was reminded of a conversation earlier in their relationship in which Kyle and I were talking about some of her idiosyncrasies. I said something like, "You may have to sweep up flower petals, but your house will smell good," and he said, "Oh, you don't ever have to convince me of Grace's value. I am all in."

I was a little shocked, because I would never try to convince anyone of her value. But I have followed her through life watchful as a hawk for those capable of recognizing it, and wary of those who don't. I do that with all my kids, as I am sure most parents do. We know what treasures they are. I believe Kyle was trying to communicate that he saw her for the queen she is. And I could trust him with her heart.

This software tool he built was just the latest in a series--a lifestyle, really--of knowing and loving her. And doing those things. For Kyle, as with any of us who are wise, knowing and loving are action verbs. They are dance partners.

I recently came across this poem Megan Falley wrote for her late partner, a writer I used to follow named Andrea Gibson. It felt so fitting for my consideration of idiosyncrasies. So often the magic of another person is wound up with their quirks, like a double helix. Wisdom knows and loves.

I admit, you drove me crazy.

The careless way you'd salt

no napkin or plate beneath it.

Just right over the floor,

your summer snow, trusting

someone else would sweep it.

And you never took your boots off.

Only ever used half a stevia packet.

The rest would collect in the crevices

of car doors, divots no vacuum could reach.

There was nothing you couldn't fix

with duct tape, or shoelaces

stolen from other people's shoes.

And you broke everything

you borrowed. All those stains

you called heart-shaped.

Plus you lost my heirlooms.

Not because you didn't care,

but because you moved so fast,

like maybe you always knew

you would leave too soon--

so why waste a minute

screwing the cap back on

the pickle jar? Do you remember

how many times you thought

something was stolen?

That we'd been invaded?

Because you couldn't wait

that extra breath to look. You loved me

because I always found everything.

I always assured you:

nothing was taken from us.

It's all such a mess--

how immaculate the house is now.

tracking muddy bootprints

with my missing shoelaces.

that we were walking on salt?

I will call it the beach.

Gwen Ford Faulkenberry is an author, teacher, and award-winning columnist from Ozark. Email her at gfaulkenberry@hotmail.com. Watch her vodcast here: https://www.arkansasonline.com/news/podcast/smalltowngirl/, https://www.nwaonline.com/news/podcast/smalltowngirl/.

Gwen Ford Faulkenberry is a mother, author, English professor, and award-winning columnist from Ozark, Arkansas. She has written for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette since 2021.

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