I wake up at 5:30 every single morning. Except for Saturdays and Sundays. Then I’m up at 5. To make sure the house is clean. To make sure there’s food ready. My son drops the grandkids off at 6 AM sharp. He works hard, I know this. He has a big job. He says I don’t have anything else to do. He says I’m retired. What am I going to do with my time? He always asks me that. I used to go to the temple. I used to have my garden. My dahlias used to be the biggest in the neighborhood. Now I just sit on the couch. With a baby on my lap. With a toddler watching cartoons. I don’t even remember what color my dahlias were. It’s been three years. Three years since I last went to the temple. Three years since I picked up a single tool for my garden. The last time I tried, my son said "Ma, what are you doing? They’ll miss you. What if they wake up and you’re not there?" He was talking about the kids. My grandkids. I love them. I really do. But I’m so tired. My back hurts. My knees hurt. I’m 52. My mom, she lives across the street, she’s 78. She says I have it easy. She says back in the old country, we all lived together. We all helped. Here it’s just me. Just me and the kids. All weekend. Every weekend. He doesn’t even ask anymore. He just tells me. “I’m dropping them off at 6, Ma.” And I just say okay. What else am I going to say? What am I going to do? I miss my garden so much.