You know what I mean. Most sitcoms feature a slovenly, idiotic man who idles around while the family functions in spite of him. My life is like a sitcom, only with the opposite of that guy.
I picked up the boys from choir at church and dropped them off at the school because they rode their bikes this morning and needed to ride them back home. As soon as they left the car the race was on because they always want to beat me home. They took off down the sidewalk one way and I took off down the road the other way, but in my rearview mirror I could see Keaton running beside his bike to get it going fast enough, and then hopping on and pedaling like mad, like he was fighting to win his very own NASCAR race. I pulled around the corner to our house just in time to see him jab both fists in the air and scream "YEAH!!" because he hit the driveway before me.
I pulled into the garage and got out of the car, and Tucker said, "I know, I know. Get my backpack out of the car." Yes, I was going to say that, and yes, he did it. Immediately after, he put on his new shoulder pads and one of his dad's Aggie jerseys, the only one that will fit over the enormous pads.
The neighbor kids saw that our car was home and biked over, so Keaton never actually made it in the house. They rode bikes in circles and cheered about random things. I came into a delicious-smelling house because of a roast in the crock pot, fed the dogs, opened the mail, and tidied up a little.
I went into my room to change, and then I started hearing these loud thumping noises from the living room. I gave it a few minutes, wondering if I really even wanted to know what was happening, and then finally relented. I found Tucker in the living room carefully placing the ottoman on its end and then running from across the room to tackle it, over and over again.
"You can't do that anymore," I told him.
"Awwwww, mommmmmmmm. I need something to tackle with my new should pads. Can I tackle you?"
"No."
"You're right. It's probably a bad idea because I might break your rib or something."
Hmmmmm...that's not exactly what I was thinking, but pretty close.
I stuck my head out the door to check on Keaton and found him working on his basketball skills while the neighbor girls cheered. He was using a volleyball, but whatever.
Tucker told me he was hungry, and I went ahead and gave him some roast so he didn't ruin dinner by snacking too much. He sat comfortably eating his dinner, properly padded up in case a natural disaster or NFL linebacker should happen to come through the living room. He's also eight years old now, so he has to look cool in pictures instead of smiling.
Keaton came in to get a drink of water, and asked, "What's that smell?"
"Roast," I replied.
"Oh, YUMMY! Thanks for making roast, mom!"
Trey called to say he's on his way home from work, and he came in the door singing whatever song was on the radio in the car. In a few minutes it will be too dark for the kids to play outside any longer, so we'll make them come in, but only after some arguments and begging for a few more minutes. Until then Trey and I will have probably the only full conversation of the night.
We'll have dinner, Trey will clean the kitchen, the boys will take baths. We'll practice spelling words, read a few books, maybe watch a little television. Keaton will do or say something hysterical, and Tucker will throw footballs, baseballs, and other sporting equipment about a million times. Around 8:30 we'll say prayers together and put them to bed, and then Trey and I will watch our grown up shows, uninterrupted.
Life is just good.
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