This morning I waited for Pascal to come downstairs, forgetting for a good ten minutes that he was sleeping at someone else's house. It was only last year that he was afraid to sleep away, that he cried each night for days when I went to my art opening in New Orleans, requiring his aunt, who was staying with him in my absence, to snuggle next to him until he could fall asleep. The turning point came when his class took a multiple-night field trip to a farm in upstate New York, a prospect that he had dreaded, but an experience that transformed his confidence and sense of security. He also got to milk a cow and make his own yogurt: a definite deal sweetener for my dairy boy. Coffee in hand and curled up on the couch, I thought about how far he's come this year, and this evening as I kissed him goodnight, he told me that he couldn't love me any more, but then he laughed at himself and said, "That's not really true, though. Love goes on forever."