In which I wonder if I am raising responsible adults and who determines that anyway?

A knock breaks the silence of the room in the basement, where I might have chosen to be for its potential to hide me for 30 minutes.

“Yes?” I muffled, refusing to change position, my forehead pressed into the rug.

The 19-year-old walks in.  “Just an update to let you know what’s going on in your house,” Sidney says.  I concentrate on keeping my shoulders relaxed in child’s pose and breathing deeply.   Stay in the yoga flow, peace, mindfulness of the breath.  Though I can’t resist a mental eyeroll, a tiny ripple in my river of peace.

“I just electrocuted myself in the mouth a little bit and your phones don’t work, but I’m working on fixing that.”

“How is your mouth feeling?” I dutifully ask.

“It’s alright.  It was only about 48 volts.”

I’m glad that I did not lift my head for this.

* * *

Later, I overhear Sidney and Lincoln talking . . .

“You electrocuted yourself?” Lincoln asked.

“Well, it was only 48 volts,” Sidney replied.  “You don’t feel that in your fingers, but you really feel it on your tongue.”

Confused, I trip into the conversation, “Wait.  How do you happen to feel it on your tongue?”

Sidney grins, “Because I licked it.”