The H.J. and I are sitting in the breakfast nook, he noodling around in his bicycling forum and I noodling around in my Hmong textile search, listening to the absolute sweetest sound. The Big Angel is upstairs, either getting ready to shower or just out of it, and he is singing away. I don’t know the tune and can’t make out any words, but it’s clear he is singing and, knowing him, dancing, too. I love that purity of singing for joy. I feel so lucky to be his mother and to get love someone so much.