Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“I already told you, Ethan. I’m fine, and there’s nothing wrong with your little boys. The doctor said it’s not unusual for a woman’s body to fall pregnant less often once she’s already had a few, especially one after the other for five years.
“Or maybe we’re doing it at the wrong time?” Ethan suggests, and I don’t like the look he develops.
With Isaiah still awake, and the other kids already up to no good in the next room, it’s hardly the best time to start playing when to take mommy to get her pregnant again.
“Or maybe you could…,” I start to reply, but the clattering sound of paint cans and something heavy falling, followed by total silence, sees Ethan and me leap up and investigate.
Zak’s painted his room alright.
The walls. The windows, and now the floor.
And his sisters.
I draw a breath to say something, to try and even begin to figure out what we’re gonna do with this mess.
But Ethan’s muffled laughter is contagious, and before long, it’s decided.
The floor can be red too.
“Can I at least help you guys finish?” Ethan asks patiently.
Totally ignoring the fact that his son has painted…well, half-painted everything in his room bright red.
“And then I can help clean you all up.” I pipe in, trying to sound like a cranky mom, but if Ethan’s okay with having paint everywhere, and helping the kids to finish the room, then I guess we can all get covered in paint.
Except for little Isiah, who’s already asleep on my chest, and I lay him in Emily’s old crib while Ethan gets our brushes ready, reserving a section of floor for himself that he says only he can paint.
I frown at him, wishing he wouldn’t encourage the kids like this.
“They’ll be wanting to paint the whole house next,” I caution Ethan.
“Estate, honey. We live on an estate,” he smiles, and I throw my hands in the air, pretending to scream before I laugh along with him.
I take my place next to him with a brush of my own in my hand, asking him where he wants me to start.
Ethan dips his brush in some of the spilled paint, and with big sweeping movements of his huge arm, he paints a red heart right onto the polished floorboards.
“Dad,” Zak whines. “Don’t be gross…not in my room,” he huffs, hating it whenever mom and dad do anything romantic.
He’s six, soon to be seven, and he’s painting his own room, not running a dating service for his parents. That’s his reasoning.
But Ethan’s not just painting it for me, he asks each of our babies to come and paint their name in the big area inside the heart, which he suggests they leave unpainted.
“We can put a rug over it or something if you don’t like it, Zak,” he consoles our son, who screws his face up at the idea until dad suggests he paint his name first.
“Sure!” he squeaks. “My room, my name.” He giggles triumphantly and sets to work taking up as much of the inside of the heart as he can with his three-letter name.
Emily’s more meticulous and paints her name beautifully. In perfect script, just like her dad does.
Bridget does an excellent rendition of her own name, putting a ‘b’ instead of a letter ‘d’, but that’s okay. Practice makes perfect.
And although little Isaiah is asleep and doesn’t write, Ethan has him pressing his tiny foot he’s dabbed with paint, right in the middle of our big family heart.
He stirs a little but goes straight back to sleep.
“Now you, Krissy,” Ethan says, wiping Isaiah’s foot with a wet wipe.
I realize how hard it is to paint my name and make sure I tell the kids what a fine job they’ve done when I see my effort may as well be a footprint too.
Ethan goes last and puts his name above Isaiah’s footprint with mine underneath it, leaving enough room for a few more names.
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see what other names we can put in here,” Ethan muses, looking like he’s got the mystery of the century on his mind.
Wondering why he can’t just have more babies.
So here we are, another typical day in the life of the Silverthorne family.
Zak’s room painting has turned into another golden family moment, with Ethan bringing it around to be about every one of us, not just Zak.
And it’s something if Zak lets us keep it there, that he can show his kids one day.
Maybe have them paint their name or do something to add to it.
It’s little things (okay red paint everywhere isn’t a little thing), but Ethan always makes the most out of every second we have together as a family.
He loves his kids and me more than he says every five minutes.
And once the kids agree they’re done for the day, running off and no doubt putting red paint on everything they touch, he pulls me closer by the hands.