Britney and I stayed up late talking. Family life is kicking both our asses. No one said it would be easy, that’s what they say. As you get older all those little adages are so true, but you hate them more and more. Highway to hell is paved with good intentions, that’s another one that came up in the conversation.
We talked about her job. Came to the conclusion her problem was she was trying to hard. That in Babylonian systems trying to do a good job leads to more problems. Just fly under the radar, see it as a means to an end. People don’t drink water anymore, isn’t that crazy? What does it mean when a human, an animal, no longer desires water? Can’t be good, can it?
We tried to end the conversation a couple times, but it was after midnight before we crawled into bed. We whispered final thoughts to each other in the dark. I realize in it all how meant we are for each other, and how our three beautiful boys are proof positive.
As we lay there, my OCD kicks in, and I can’t remember if I locked the downstairs door. Grumbling I go check it out, and I have. Usually we lock the dogs up in the back room, so that don’t make a bunch of noise on the stairs, or try to gate crash, and get upstairs, but they’re nowhere to be found. I put the another kiddie fence up to stop them from coming up the stairs. I’m just about to drift off, and I hear them testing the kiddie fence, and then coming up the stairs. I jump out of bed, go lock them up.
I ask Britney if she let them out at all, since she was home. She thinks yes, but isn’t sure. Randomly the rain starts. “That’s what got them,” she says. I wonder through the sleepy fog, how they knew that brief rain was coming. Moments later she jumps out of bed. “Now I’m paranoid I didn’t let them out.” She stumbled back downstairs.
Wake up early, to the familiar sound of a door being slammed. Don’t know what it is, but can’t get the kids to keep the door shut during the day, but in the morning some instinct tells them to slam it. It wakes everyone up. Mornings are tough, chaotic, they want to hang with Mom, but she has to go to work. Brit goes for a run, which I admire.
I decide we got to get out of the house. We send Mom off with hugs and kisses and then head off. Get some burritos from Wackdonalds, go to a park. It’s a great time. Beautiful cool summer morning. Blue skies, relaxing breeze, everything’s green and at its peek. Everyone’s happy, content.
I push my boys in the swings, taking turns with each one. They all encourage me, higher, higher. Little one laughs with each push, dangles his big toddler head back. Drool runs down his cheek. I tell him to keep his big head up, scared he’s going to fall out. Why are the best things filled with some much danger?