Two children, two car seats, two baby carriers, two diaper bags, two of everything. And no days off in a week. At first Ada wouldn't take the bottle, so our days were noisy and our nights were busy.
My mother retired last year to help with the grandbabies, and help she did. Once a week she braved the early morning traffic to arrive on our doorstep and take the baby while I worked my shift day in the pre-school with Jeep.
Oh, the sweet, emasculating stickiness of this entire year. Cheerios ground into the carpet. Milk dumped on the couch. Singing lullabies, changing diapers. Now or in two minutes? Forts in the couch. Kids in the tree. Swaddle 1,2,3. You look into their tiny faces, bright-eyed, laughing and your heart breaks about twenty times a day.
And then sometimes you yell. Occasionally you spank. There are threats, warnings, and negotiations. They go to bed and you drink too much, brood about something intangible. You snore all night and your wife elbows you in the back. You wake up and make coffee and read the paper and don't go for a run.
That's life for awhile, and it seems like it will last forever. But it doesn't. Today is our last day of school before summer. Am I mourning the change of season? I think so.