Before he hopped into bed last night, Steve asked, “Where’s Rolo?”
“I think he’s curled up on the La-Z-Boy recliner in the carport,” I replied.
There was a pause.
What better way to christen the baby backpack than an evening trip in the orchard to watch Steve prune the cherries? Avelyn only got whapped in the head by a few falling branches.
When I pulled into the driveway and heard Van Morrison blaring through the windows it became clear to me just how very different Daddy-time is than Mommy-time.
"That’s it. I’m done. I can’t DO this!" I sobbed and ran out of the bathroom then threw myself on our bed.
Steve came after me, half of his hair long, the other half short.
Steve crept back into the darkened bedroom to give a good-bye kiss to me and Avelyn. As he turned to leave he mentioned, "Rolo barfed all over the stairs.