“Stay in your room,” they warn me. “We’ve got everything under control.”

“I’ll only come out if I smell smoke,” I say.

Five minutes later, Daughter #1 pops her head through my bedroom door. “Um, when you preheat the oven?”

“Yes?”

“Do you, like…leave it on? Once it gets to the right temperature?”

“Yes,” I say.

She nods and skips back down the stairs.

A moment later, Daughter #2 sticks her head into my room.

“You can’t hear what we’re talking about, right?” she says sternly.

“I really can’t,” I say.

“Would you even tell us if you could?”

“Well,” I say, pondering this. “I suppose if I thought you might be really disappointed, I might just not tell you.”

“But you didn’t hear.”

“Nope. I really didn’t.”

“Okay.” She hops downstairs to help her sister. Their dad dropped them off this morning with a bunch of mystery groceries, a nice gesture on his part, so they could make me breakfast for Mother’s Day.

I realize I am not actually worried that they will burn down the house. This is progress, I think. The kids are all right.

When they finally arrive with breakfast, I am amazed. Scrambled cheesy eggs, turkey bacon, a Greek yogurt and fresh raspberry parfait, cinnamon rolls and orange juice. It is a meal fit for a queen, and I am certainly feeling like one.

“Read your cards,” they urge me. Daughter #1 offers me hers:

Dear Mom, I’m not going to write in cursive, it would ruin the card. From your firstborn to your second, you’ve managed to stay sane and have always been there for us. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother, in any dimension. Love, S

“Oh,” I say, “Just…oh. I love it.”

Daughter #2 gives me hers, a massive green stapled envelope as long as my arm. Inside, a poem she’s written.

My mom has the best personality.
Of all the moms in the world she’s the best.
Terrific as always.
Honest and super.
Enjoy being with you!
Rules the house.
She’s loving!

Delightful!
Aces every test.
You make me happy!

“OHHH,” I say again, now completely at a loss for words.

They beam and they hug me.

I squeeze back, marveling at these beauties of mine on this simple quiet morning, four years after the storm of the loss of the family we used to be. But now we are here: It’s Mother’s Day, not Single Mother’s Day. I am missing nothing, needing nothing, wanting nothing but them. Three is a good number, a very good number, it turns out.

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