“It’s kind of a relief,” Wendy admits. “Before last week I thought your kids were perfect. Too perfect.” “They are perfect,” I tell her. “This is just what perfect looks like.” “Messy,” says Wendy. “Crazy,” I tell her. “Bookish,” she replies. “Sporty,” I say back. “At home,” she says. “At work,” I reply. “Eating sidewalk chalk . .
