I got the call late last night. The call is from my son. He and his girlfriend are in town delivering t-shirts to a local bar (they are screenprinters, among other things) and they would like to spend the night at our house. So, I ready his old room. A short while later, I get a call from my daughter. She is home from college for the weekend to attend a local party and might be bringing two friends home to spend the night. So, I ready her old room, scrub the toilet and scoop the upstairs cat box. It needed it anyway.

 Our son and his girlfriend arrive at 1:45 am with our dogs heralding their arrival. I get up to greet them and I'm up for another two hours. My daughter and her two friends, one male and one female, arrive at 4:45 am with our dogs heralding their arrival  and I'm up for another two hours. I finally roll out of bed at 7:30, certain that given my lack of sleep it's going to be a bad day. After the paper, a quick bite, some internet reading, I dress and head to the grocery store. Somewhere along the way I decide to whip up a luxury brunch. 

 I have black beans from last week's bean pot, and red chili sauce  I made from dried chilis from the Mexican market in the freezer. I decide to make black bean tostados with cheese  and  red chili sauce topped with a fried egg, avacado salsa, BBQ potato and onion hash, and from-scratch buttermilk pancakes.  Coffee, juice, Diet Coke.

 As I prepare each dish, as if called by the scent, they trickle downstairs, until the table is crowded with hungry young adults. Introductions all around.  None awkward. They are all likely slightly hungover, but eager to talk, laugh and share experiences.  Our kids are essentially grown, and it's been a long time since our kitchen has been this full. For a while I take a back seat and think "This looks and sounds like the scene from a movie." Tears flood my eyes. These moments, these chances for  connection with our children, are so rare and so precious.

Eventually, the food is consumed, the table is cleared, and their eyes turn toward the driveway and the autos that will take them back home. Home which is not here. No longer here.

Watching them go I vow to make and freeze more red chili sauce and  to stamp down fatigue and exasperation when there is an opportunity to use food to draw them near, to seduce them home. Home which is here.