Lucky Charms is hitting their bowls and smelling oddly like the yeast I use for pizza dough. They’ve already made time to fight over who will put away the milk and which spoon goes to whom. They are trying to annoy each other with repetitive noises. Thank you, I’m thoroughly exasperated.

“I read something this morning and I’m curious what you think it means,” I tell them. Their interest is tickled enough to stop poking and grunting. “Things that we can see are temporary and things we cannot see will last eternally. Ideas?”

My oldest daughter takes the challenge by starting first, which is more about not letting her brother talk and less about having something to say. I know this by the way she hesitates after each word. “Temporary…means…power,” she says with white dribbles on her chin.

I’m trying with great effort not to let myself get distracted by the learning curve of her hairstyle.
Um, no. “Try again.”

“Wait.” She is stalling again. Must. Answer. Before. Him. But his patience can only last so long.

“It means-” he begins.

“Let her finish and then you can try.”

She takes another stab at it, and at her brother. It’s a one-two punch if she can pull it off. “Temporary means, like, it won’t last forever.”

“Exactly.”

“But,” she says. “We can’t see, like, fairy godmothers or Santa Claus and they won’t last forever.”

Now I’m the one feeling a kick in the gut. Think fast. “Right, but they aren’t real. I think it’s talking about things that are real.” Whew. Save. Back to the exploration. “So the things we can see like our house, the trees, even our bodies, won’t always be around. Our souls, our spiritual hearts will live forever.”

My son picks up a small box. “Like this gum. We chew it and when we’re done we spit it in the trash.”

OK. Well, I think we got lost somewhere. Go get ready for school.