I hear her feet stomping through the garage on her way to the house, where I’m in the living room, tidying up. I cringe, waiting for it. Three…two…one.On cue, the door from the garage goes crashing into the wall with a bang loud enough to send our dog, Riley, scrambling up the stairs. The whirlwind is Quinlan–always Quinlan. She and Saoirse and Cian have been outside, playing with some new liquid sidewalk chalk.
“Mom!” she shouts. “Come look our paintings!”
There’s a pause.