“Because he slobbers.”

Dad laughed.

“He does have a point.”

“The dog is a boy,” Sophie said.

“I meant Ethan.”

Mom shook her head, smiling.

“All right. Let’s make a chart everybody can actually follow.”

Dad took the notebook and studied it.

“I can handle the school calendar. What’s the password for that app again?”

Mom slowly turned toward him.

Dad stopped talking.

“Right. I’ll figure it out.”

Everybody laughed.

We spent the next half hour making a real chore chart.

Sophie agreed to feed the dog if I helped her. Dad promised to check the calendar without asking Mom every five minutes.

Mom said she still wanted to cook dinner sometimes because she liked cooking.

She also said nobody was allowed to use the washing machine without checking their pockets first.

Dad wrote the final chart on a big sheet of paper.

Sophie decorated it with flowers and a purple dinosaur.

At the bottom, Mom added one rule.

Everybody gets a break.

I thought that was a pretty good rule.

THE REAL REASON FOR THE CHOCOLATE

On Sunday afternoon, I found Mom in the pantry again.

This time, she wasn’t hiding behind the cereal boxes. She was sitting on the upside-down laundry basket with the Christmas chocolate tin beside her.

I stood in the doorway.

“Can I come in?”

She looked up.

“Of course.”

I sat on the floor across from her.

For a while, neither of us said anything.

Then I asked the question I’d been thinking about all week.

“Mom, why do you hide in here?”

She looked at the chocolate.

“Because sometimes it’s the only place nobody thinks to look for me.”

“But you could just tell us you want to be alone.”

Mom smiled.

“You’re right. I probably should.”

“Would we listen?”

She thought about that.

“Maybe not the first time.”

I laughed.

She broke a piece of chocolate in half and handed me the smaller part.

“I love being your mom, Ethan. But sometimes I need a few minutes when nobody needs anything from me.”

I looked at her.

“Do you ever wish you weren’t our mom?”

Her expression changed.

“Oh, sweetheart. No. Never.”

She set the tin aside.

“But even moms get tired. We need breaks, too.”

I thought about the way she’d looked after Sophie’s birthday party.

“So you hide in here because we’re too noisy?”

She laughed.

“Sometimes. And sometimes I just want to eat chocolate without dividing it into four equal pieces.”

That seemed reasonable.

I looked at the laundry basket.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“Very.”

“Why don’t you sit in the living room?”

“Because somebody always needs the television, the remote, or help finding something.”

I thought for a moment.

“You could use my room.”

Mom smiled.

“Your room?”

“Yeah. I’ll put a chair in there. You can close the door.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll stay downstairs. Or go outside. Or read.”

She looked at me for a long moment.

Then she reached over and brushed my hair off my forehead.

“That’s a very kind offer.”

I shrugged.

“I just think you deserve a better chair.”

Mom laughed so hard she nearly dropped the chocolate tin.

MY REPORT TO MRS. PARKER

On Monday morning, I stood in front of my class holding my notebook.

Mrs. Parker smiled.

“Ethan, are you ready to tell us about the most important job in your family?”

I nodded.

My classmates were sitting at their desks. Some had brought photographs of their parents at work.

I didn’t have a photograph.

I had my notebook.

“My report is about my mother,” I began. “She’s a modern American mom, and I’ve been studying her for seven days.”

A few kids laughed.

I told them about the coffee transformation, the frog pajama pants, and the dinner Mom had invented from leftovers.

I explained that she could find missing jackets without leaving her chair and that gentle parenting didn’t mean you were allowed to draw spaceships on the walls.

Everybody laughed at that part.

Then I turned to the last page.

“At first, I thought my mom’s most important job was remembering everything. She remembers our homework, appointments, lunches, and where Dad leaves his stuff.”

I looked at Mrs. Parker.

“But then my mom forgot something important.”

The room became quieter.

“She forgot my sister’s birthday party. And I found out moms aren’t computers. They get tired and make mistakes, just like everybody else.”

Mrs. Parker nodded.

“That’s a good observation, Ethan.”

I looked at my notebook.

“I think my mom does too much. So we made a chore chart at home. Now everybody has jobs, and Mom doesn’t have to remember everything by herself.”

Mrs. Parker smiled.

“Do you think that makes your mother’s job easier?”

“I hope so.”

She thought for a moment.

“If you could make your mother perfect, so she never forgot anything or got tired, would you?”

I considered that.

Then I shook my head.

“No, ma’am. I think I’d rather have my mom take a nap sometimes.”

The class laughed.

Mrs. Parker laughed too.

“Why is that?”

I looked down at my notebook.

“Because she takes care of us all the time. And I think somebody should take care of her sometimes.”

I paused.

“So my final answer is that mothers are made of love, patience, coffee, and probably some secret chocolate.”

Everybody laughed again.

“And their most important job is helping us grow up. But I think we should let them rest once in a while.”

When I finished, Mrs. Parker clapped.

So did the rest of the class.

I felt pretty proud of myself.

I also felt relieved that nobody asked where Mom kept the chocolate.

THE NEW SIGN ON THE PANTRY DOOR

That afternoon, Mom picked me up from school.

“How did your presentation go?” she asked.

“Pretty good.”

“What did you tell everybody?”

“Mostly nice things.”

She glanced at me.

“Mostly?”

“I mentioned the chocolate.”

Mom groaned.

“Ethan Miller.”

“Relax. I didn’t tell them where you hide it.”

She looked relieved.

“Well, at least you kept your promise.”

When we got home, Dad was making dinner.

He’d checked the school calendar himself and remembered that Sophie needed to return her library book the next morning.

Sophie had put her shoes beside the front door.

Mom noticed both things.

She didn’t say anything.

She just smiled.

After dinner, I went upstairs and made a sign using blue construction paper and a black marker.

I wrote:

MOM’S BREAK ROOM.

PLEASE KNOCK.

Then I drew a little chocolate bar underneath.

I taped it to the pantry door.

Mom found it while she was putting away the dishes.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Your new office.”

She read the sign.

Then she looked at me.

“Does this mean I get to sit in there without anybody bothering me?”

“For fifteen minutes.”

“Only fifteen?”

“We can negotiate.”

Dad came into the kitchen and read the sign.

“I think your mother deserves at least twenty.”

Mom crossed her arms.

“Thirty.”

I considered the offer.

“Twenty-five, and you have to share the chocolate sometimes.”

She smiled.

“Deal.”

The next evening, I walked past the pantry and saw the door closed.

I could hear faint music coming from inside.

I was about to knock because I couldn’t find my headphones.

Then I remembered the sign.

I went upstairs, checked under my bed, and found them myself.

When I came back downstairs, Dad was sitting beside Sophie, helping her finish a puzzle.

The kitchen was clean, the dog had been fed, and nobody was calling for Mom.

I walked over to the pantry and slipped a little note under the door.

Dear Mom, you can have the last piece of chocolate. Love, Ethan.

A moment later, another note slid out.

Thank you, sweetheart. There’s another tin behind the cereal. Love, Mom.

I smiled at the paper.

Then I went to the cupboard, found the second tin, and took out two pieces.

I put one on a little plate outside the pantry door, just in case Mom wanted it later.

And for once, I didn’t knock.