The Parenthood

I won't lie, this weekend was not pretty in the 'hood.' The children nearly killed us, drive by sassing, looting our hearts with tiny fireballs of parental destruction, hand to hand brotherly combat. Just about the time we threw our hands up in the air waving dish rags of surrender, things began to turn around. Three day weekend and the last four hours saved it from complete and total destruction. By the evenings end, Paul and I sat down for dinner, a rare occasion where we save our meal to enjoy post bed-time and listened to a light banter coming from the boys room. Usually the bedtime routine ends with them yelling "GO!" at each other from crib to toddler bed, tonight I stepped away from my plate to witness a moment that healed my heart from the weekends brutal beating: Sam read to Peter from Richard Scarry's Busy Busy Town, "Sweeper" and a tiny voice would repeat from the crib, "weeper." "Dump truck," "ump fruck," and so on (until Pete started crying for more milk.) For the ten minutes that it lasted we listened, giggling quietly from outside their door and silently gave thanks for saving our lives in the weekends last moments.