I pick my son Danny up from the house of a friend. The car is quiet.

“I love you,” says Danny. He shakes his head back and forth with awareness of the words that have just left his mouth.

“That’s a habit I picked up from you,” he says with some teenage agony.

“One of my better habits,” I respond back with a smile.

I know of what Danny speaks. I naturally like most mothers tell my children that I love them as often as I can. Those moments are often before they leave the house, hang up the phone, are feeling low, are feeling high or going to bed. They are wonderful, yet somewhat expected ‘I love you’s.’

I have since they were little always offered unexpected ‘I love you’s’ while driving in the car. The car has always brought me into the moment. I hear them all laughing hysterically over something or even bickering and I am reminded of the beauty of my family. Often though it is in the quiet moments of the car when I will reflect on how happy I am to just ‘be with’ them. That is when I utter ‘I love you’ and they, long used to my random car ‘love’ oblige with an ‘I love you’ back.

I always tell my children that I hope that they duplicate the best of me and throw away the worst.

I know that somewhere down deep this must have been a ritual with my own mother that I am passing along.

One of her better habits.

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