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Patriotic mom to children yesterday: "You will watch the first 15 minutes of the presidential debate. I want you to know each candidate's name, and be able to recognize their faces, and the sound of their voice."  

Leif in minute 2 "this is boring."  Mom to self "yep!" Mom to Leif: "hush boy. you only have to sit here 15 minutes. I don't want to hear another word about boring."  

Earlier in the day I attended noon mass in Spanish. This is only my second mass ever.  I have questions, like "why is the singing so very bad?" "why are the fake flowers faded and crumpling to the left?" "why are the real roses dead and drooping almost falling off the stems, but still proudly displayed?" "why can i see a butt crack two pews ahead?" "what time is it?...."

Flash forward to my aunt and uncle's living room, the kids have scattered to more entertaining options, the aunt and uncle occupied with computers and iphones, the debate droning on... I have questions, insert SNL's undecided voter http://www.hulu.com/watch/404175.  (Please watch this if you missed it.) and "what time is it?..."

The day's activities, meant to be some of the more substantial and meaningful ceremonies, feel lacking and pointless as the day winds down.

10:12 p.m., finally everyone is tucked cozily in bed, fans whirring. Last round of goodnights (there are usually 3 or so rounds, depending on things like spontaneous growing pains, throat aches, hunger, thirst, or just extra hugs needed) Ava is asleep. One down.  Two to go.  Reaching to the bunk above "goodnight, Luke. sweet dreams." and a hug, kiss.  Bending to the bunk below, "Goodnight, Leif. Sweet dreams."  Their alarm is set, the window cracked for just a hint of autumn night air.  

As I turn to stumble wearily to my bed, exhausted from the mundane demands of the day, Luke rolls over, "Mom. What's abortion?"  

Stopped in my tracks.  Not just because of the implications of answering this question, and the topics it will introduce (yes! this is exciting. so much to explore.)  But because I live for great questions. That I, Mary, age 33,  am the one to whom he directed the question (and others like it in the past, and others like it from Leif and Ava, and others like it to come) exceeds the not insignificant honor of  law school class rank, academic awards, winning in the courtroom.  

"Great question, Luke. Not tonight, but we will talk about this when we're rested." (I am living the dream. Probably not your dream. But mine.)