Here they come through the front door, screen a’slammin’, smelling faintly of sweat, cafeteria grease, and pencil erasers: my two high-schoolers. He’s a frosh and she’s a junior, and in the first three days of back-to-school they’ve bonded like nobody’s business. They may walk to different bus stops in the morning (he heads to the first one early- she runs out to the last stop at the last minute, bagel in hand) but they walk the three blocks home in the afternoon stride-in-stride, words formed quickly and just-so to tuck into the other’s ear. They talk to hear themselves talk, sure- they’re self-absorbed teenagers! But they also listen to each other and sometimes even (gasp!) try to understand something the other is saying, the cadence changing a bit from two-note staccato to a more lilting melodic line. It’s this reaching for understanding that comes through despite the gab that mystifies me and gives me hope. Days like this, I just know I won the mother lottery, and damn if I’m not grateful as all.