Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
EIGHTEEN
Tyra
“Mom, I don’t need all of this. Dad can come and get it off the back porch from you and never take his eyes off me.” Von is probably exasperated with me, what after lathering him in sunscreen, packing a bag with two towels, his goggles, a few toys, and arm bands in case he gets tired of swimming and would rather float. Overkill, especially since Von could swim before he was really fully walking.
“Fine. Put the bag on the back patio, if you want. I’d take your goggles and the towels at least.” Instead, he’s ripping everything out of the bag, tossing it wherever it may land. Mace told me yesterday after he told Von what needed to be said that he bawled his eyes out. He didn’t have to say a word; our son’s eyes gave it away, as did the redness around them and his runny nose, and he clung to Mace when he said goodbye. The tightening in my chest at seeing Mace’s eyes look pretty much the exact same way as Von’s, seeing as he’s his mini-me in every way imaginable, from looks to the personality, plus the smarts our boy has, it didn’t take much to know Mace had his own crying jag that I knew he’d never admit to.
“If you make a mess, you’re going to clean it up, and we still have to talk about the mess you left in the bathroom, your dirty clothes, and your toys. Speaking of, where are the clothes you had on this morning?” I ask, moving to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes. Having two days off in a row called for homemade cinnamon rolls for the two of us. Though I did save a couple for Mace to take home.
“I won’t, and they’re in the laundry basket, promise.” He picks up the stuff he’s not willing to take to the pool, mainly the floaties and toys, leaving the sunscreen, towels, and goggles in the bag, “Where do these go?”
“In the hall closet. Want help?” I ask, wondering where the time went and how he’s gotten to be so big. Another thought takes place, causing me to move my hand to my lower abdomen, wondering if it wouldn’t be so bad to throw caution to the wind. Since Mace put that thought in my head, I swear it has me questioning my sanity.
“Nope, I’ll do it,” he replies. I look to where he’s going, holding the items tightly to his chest so he won’t have to make two trips. Yep, Mini-freaking-Mace right there.
“Sucking up will get you everywhere in life.” I finish wiping down the kitchen counters, checking the floor to make sure no crumbs dropped. I don’t want to clean the floors again for the second day in a row. If we weren’t living in an apartment and time were nothing of consequence, I’d totally contemplate getting a dog, not only to help out with crumbs but also give Von a companion.
“Dad’s here, Dad’s here!” A knocking comes from the front door. “I’ve got it, Mom!” Von is running down the hall.
“Not so fast, dude. You can open the door, but I’m looking through the peephole to make sure it’s Dad first. We’ve talked about this, Von.” Maybe it’s a good thing Mace is taking him to the pool today. He’s been balls to the walls off the charts crazy all morning, and it’s not even noon. It’s either that, or the past year has taken its toll on me. Add the fact Friday night’s sleep was little to none, not that I’m complaining for that at all. Then there was last night, winding us down, then talking to Mace on the phone once Von was asleep didn’t help much either.
Von wedges himself between me and the door, hand wrapping around the doorknob.
“But it’s Dad, you know it is, and so do I.” He tries to give me the puppy dog eyes, meanwhile twisting the handle.
“Excuse me, do you and I need to have another talk this morning? Neither of us know it’s Dad. What would happen if I opened the door, and it wasn’t a nice person? It’d be putting both of us in danger. Waiting one more minute longer isn’t going to hurt you or Dad. In fact, he’d be thankful.” Von does not like what I’m saying. He’s huffing and puffing. Oh, the joys of parenthood.
“This is stupid,” he smarts off. Yep, now I get to be the bad guy. I love this for me.
“Couch, now. We’ll talk when you can use nice words, and the pool can wait until you apologize.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes, praying for some kind of calm and guidance. When I open them, Von is sitting on the couch, legs swinging, arms crossed over his chest, attitude in full effect.