We pulled into our parking space at 9:38am. Yes, we were technically eight minutes late. But I’d managed to dress and feed four hungry tiny people, wrestle them into car seats, and drive here. Eight minutes late was a win.
Some of her patients had parenting problems more than they had medical problems, but Dr. Simian didn’t say that out loud as she took Mrs. Monkey’s call . . .
I thought taking care of one baby was hard, until I had two . . .
JR often watched TV with Grandma—either he would watch his cartoon or educational programs, or she would watch HGTV or a tattoo competition series . . .
To date we’d always had the twins enrolled in all the same sports and activities. But when they turned six they started to express different interests . . .
Captain America is cupping my son’s balls this morning.
Yes, you heard me right. Captain America—in full uniform, arms out wide, shield in hand—is spread across my four-year-old’s nuts as we speak . . . because when my son woke up this morning, he walked into the living room, frank and beans in full display on top of his pajama pants. When I inquired about this oddity, he said his pee-pee hurt and begged me to fix it. Of course I agreed to help. What’s a mommy to do? . . .
“Honey, I’m home.” Home to sulky silence, the absence of pounding footsteps, and the discordant music of two contentious nine-year-olds. I move through the eerie, foreboding silence toward her. Her—the mother of our children, and my wife of choice on most days . . .
She flies to her room with that awkward run that’s typical of children under three. It’s the the quick thump-thump-thump of her feet on the hardwood floors that makes me smile. Colette was a late walker, so that kind of purposeful movement, even if done in anger, amazes me . . .