She organized the limes

"She organized the limes." I told him. He laughed. "Ya, what should we be doing about that?"

It wasn't the first time I had come home to something like a perfectly organized fruit bowl.

I came home after running into town for an hour, and the house was immaculate. She had set the table for dinner, cleaned her room, tidied the shoes, and fed the dog.

She does it every time.

Now, I'm not going to complain about this. What mom complains about their kids cleaning the house? But it does concern me.

Because the kid who organized the limes is the kid whose adoption is pending.

The kid who has reoccurring nightmares that we changed our minds and don't want to adopt her anymore.

The kid who has a countdown on her phone to the day that its all official and done.

The kid who has been asked to do the impossible, to trust these new adults, when the one lesson life has most thoroughly taught her is that adults aren't to be trusted.

We tell her we love her 1000 times a day.

We tell her she isn't going anywhere 100 times a day.

We assure her that we aren't going to change our minds and that its a done deal 10 times a day.

We tell her that we are family, which means we are going to be here and going to love her forever, no matter what.

And she listens.

And she wants to believe us.

But she organizes the limes.

Just in case.