The first weekend the boys were scheduled to stay with Michael felt like preparing for a military operation. I packed and repacked their overnight bags, meticulously labeling medications, writing down Alex's allergy information, and including detailed notes about Austin's sleep habits.
"Mom, you're doing it again," Alex said, watching me from my bedroom doorway as I folded his favorite sweatshirt for the third time.
"Doing what?" I smoothed invisible wrinkles from the fabric.
"That thing with your eyebrows." He scrunched his face in imitation. "You look like you're planning a bank heist."
I forced my face to relax. "I just want to make sure you have everything you need."
"It's just two days, Mom." Alex sighed with the world-weary exasperation only an eight-year-old could muster. "And
