The youngest child, known as Pete although that is totally not his name, was helping me with laundry by checking all the pockets of the mountain of jeans that lay before us. Because really? No one wants to be known as the Person Who Has Laundered Four Mobile Phones.
As I took shirt after shirt after god-foresaken shirt out of the dryer and folded them into beautiful rectangular perfection of which a Gap Second Key Holder would be proud, we chatted. He dropped change and guitar picks onto the counter, tossed jeans into the washer, and then, reaching into Big Dude's Wranglers, pulled out a handful of goodies, stared at them and exclaimed in awe,
"Oh my gosh. When I grow up I want to be just like Dad. He is prepared for EVERYTHING."
Ah, yes. Prepared indeed.