Beyond frustrated, and aroused, I release my grip on him with more than a little regret. “I suppose that’s our cue to get up.”
“I suppose so.” Brendon sighs. “I thought we’d have at least ten minutes.”
I raise my head to glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Most days we would have. I guess the kids are excited for today.”
“It is a pretty big one.”
After all, it isn’t every day that your oldest child has their first day of kindergarten.
He strokes my cheek. “To be continued?”
I brush my lips across his whiskered jaw. “Definitely.”
Within five minutes, Brendon is in the kitchen packing the lunchboxes and setting out cereal while I wrangle our children into pants. Our divide and conquer approach works well. Mostly.
But it’s never without a little drama.
Today, August, our three year-old, is pouting because I won’t let him wear swim trunks. Five-year-old Juliet James—or, J.J. as we call her—is worried her denim jacket won’t pair well with the dress we picked out for her first day of kindergarten.
And Daisy, who is feeling mature and grown-up now that she’s starting high school, keeps shaking her head and sighing “kids” as she brushes her teeth and puts her hair up into a pony-tale.
By the time everyone is dressed and at the table debating what kind of cereal they’re going to eat today, Brendon has a pot of coffee brewed.
“Your poison, my love.”
I beam at him while J.J. and August argue about who should get the free toy in the cereal box.
I’m too busy savoring the first heady sip of caffeine to weigh in.
“I love you so much.”
Brendon arches an eyebrow. “Are you talking to me or your coffee?”
“A lady never tells.”
Smirking, I stride past him and earn a playful swat to my behind as I do.
“No. Hit,” August calls out with a mouth full of Cheerios.
Justin rolls his eyes and I chuckle as I take my seat at the table.
J.J. pushes her untouched bowl of cereal away. “I don’t want to go to school.”
My brows knit together. “You were so excited to start kindergarten yesterday.”
And the day before. And the week before. And the month before. Honestly, she’s been begging to go to kindergarten since she saw a school bus roll by when she was three.
“Well… I changed my mind.”
A seed of dread buds in my belly. Before it can take root, Brendon gives my shoulder a squeeze before kneeling next to our daughters chair. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”
“She’s a scaredy cat,” August announces.
J.J. jaw falls open with indignation. “I am not.”
“Are too. Daisy say school is scary.”
I groan inwardly and give a stern look at our oldest, who lifts her shoulder. “I told her about how it can be kind of scary after the parents leave on the first day.”
