One Sunday last winter, we took the kids out for coffee. During the hour or so that we were at Starbucks, first one then the other child cried, whined, and asked for something unreasonable. I was reading a New York Times that had been abandoned at our table, and Wade was wrangling the kids and their various catastrophes. No sooner would he get one settled with milk and snack and napkins and something to do than the OTHER one would start up. On the way out, he looked at me and said, “It’s UNRELENTING. All the time. It’s either one or the other, but there’s no PEACE.”

And I said, “Duh.”

Today is one of those days. One of my children had a GREAT day at school, so great that it seemed to call for a small celebration, like perhaps a special snack somewhere other than our house. The other child, however, had a less good day, the kind that required me to have a Conversation with his teacher, and to say things like, “Oh, I see,” and “I’m so sorry,” and “I will absolutely talk to him.”

No I’m not going to tell you which is which, because it doesn’t really matter. Chances are that by tomorrow or the next day, they will have changed roles again, and the kid who had the great day will be the one whose teacher is asking to have a word with me after school.

Since the boys were born, I’ve felt like I should be apologizing to my parents every time I talk to them, not for anything in particular, just for being a kid and for making them worry. Also for driving them crazy on what I am sure was a regular basis. Of course, my dad is always telling me how much Henry reminds him of himself, so I suppose there is a certain kind of universal justice or karma or something, but really I just think I should start every conversation with them by saying, “Hello! I’m sorry! How are you all today?”

You can never say “I’m sorry” to your parents enough times.

Over the weekend, the boys were watching something on TV with Wade (basketball maybe? I don’t remember). Henry was sitting peacefully on the sofa, asking questions and using his inside voice, while Charlie stood with his hands on the ottoman and his feet on the floor and bounced up and down, yelling as loudly as he could. Wade kept asking him to be peaceful and sit down and use his indoor voice and FOR GOD’S SAKE JUST STOP IT! but he just kept bouncing and yelling. I watched him for a while and then said, “Now WHICH one is the hyper one again?”

Wade said, “I have no idea.”

I’m sure that when the boys are grown up, I will not remember every infraction from their childhood, but I do look forward to the day when one of them tries to stop his own little bundle of joy and energy from bouncing off the walls in a public place and calls me to say, “Mom, I’m sorry.”