Well, the boy arrived in Lansing yesterday, on the bus from Ann Arbor. (He'd flown into Michigan on Monday.) He got off the bus with a spring in his step, shoulders back and confident. He got in the car and hugged me like he meant it. He smiled. He chatted. He seems happy with his new life in Arizona.

When we got home, he said hi to his dad and the menagerie, and immediately popped a DVD into the player, because he'd brought a television show that he wanted us to see. (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia) We ordered him some food. We enjoyed each others' company. He seems genuinely glad to be here.

This may not sound like much to most of you, but to me it is absolutely huge. I don't want to cite the chapters and verses that led me to different expectations, but let me just say that, in the back (and sometimes not-so-back) of my mind, I didn't really expect my children - especially my son - to grow up and like me. Now that he's here, I realize that I subconsciously expected Charlie to come home this time and pace like a caged animal, discontent, bored, aching to get away. That he really wants to be here seems like nothing short of a miracle to me.

I'm very hard on myself when it comes to being a parent. I look at every little thing I think I did wrong, every misstep, and magnify it in my memory, assuming that it had devastating consequences for my kids. And I rarely think I did anything right. (And it's all either "right" or "wrong," too . . . I can't even find other words for it.) And I do think I was hard on Charlie in some ways; it pains me to admit it, but I had a difficult time raising (helping to raise) a boy.

So, to have him step off the bus, confident, smiling, and happy to see me . . . I really couldn't ask for anything better. And so, this Thanksgiving holiday, I truly am deeply thankful.