With benefits?
Please say no benefits. Please, please, please say no benefits.
Serena
Pot meet kettle. How’s your hockey hottie husband doing? Are you diddling the daddy yet?
Olivia
Really? Can we squeeze more alliteration into those questions?
Serena
Don’t judge me. It’s been hard to sleep in this bigass empty house.
Olivia
And that’s made you less funny?
Serena
There’s my bitchy Barbie.
The Triple Crown is rarely quiet, inside or out. Between the family, the workers, and the animals, it’s a bustle of nonstop noise and frenetic energy. Today, however, seems to be one of those rare exceptions. It’s the kind of crisp September day that prepares you for the October chill just around the corner. The kind where the scent of fall is blowing in on the breeze, the air is cooling, the leaves are changing, and lucky for me, the Wi-Fi is strong.
I never expected to find myself wrapped in my favorite cashmere throw and working outside on a tree swing for hours. But that’s exactly how I’ve spent my afternoon.
Unexpected but peaceful.
Little girl giggles followed by leaves crunching under foot simultaneously make me close my laptop and look up in time to catch a running Maggie. When this girl gets faster, watch out world. “Come here, you little chaos gremlin.”
“Up. Up. Up.” Her arms fly into the air as her daddy follows behind with Posey strangely hot on his heels. Today, the adorably fluffy cow has sunflowers in the warm walnut hair by her ears, just like her favorite little one-year-old does.
“Come here.” I reach for Maggie, pulling her up next to me. “Well hello, Miss Maggie May. Are you having fun?”
Maggie May, Logan mouths, and I smile. Dad always loved that song.
She pulls herself up to stand by my side, and my hands fly to her waist to steady her before she can fall while reaching for Posey. I think this cow might be her bodyguard, making sure she doesn’t fall flat on her face. It’s adorable, really. But a little piece of me still dies inside when she pushes at my hand with her wet nose. Not sure I’ll ever get used to that.
“Not a fan, Olive?” Logan teases, and damn, he’s sexy.
Logan’s light wash jeans look twenty years old and soft as butter. They’ve molded to every muscle in his legs, and as much as I want to act like he has no effect on me, I’m not into lying to myself.
Other people when I have to.
But never myself.
“I’m a fan,” I argue and wince as Posey moves closer, her tail swishing behind her, a pretty red bow tied at the end, glinting in the sun. Guess Posey got a full-on makeover today. “I just like her better from a distance.”
Maggie babbles something that sounds an awful lot likelove Posey,and my distaste for the cow and her gigantic tongue lessens. At least a tiny bit.
Anything that makes Maggie happy can’t be too bad.Right? Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll start believing it.
“Sure, ya are,” he humors me, clearly not believing it either. “How are you feeling? You’re looking a little less pale.”
“You may need to work on your complimenting skills, husband. They’re lacking.” I turn myself into a human seatbelt as Maggie falls on her diaper-covered tush.
How old are babies when they’re potty trained?
