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“Ivy. Shower. Now.” I snapped. “I’m tired and I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
“Fine,” she slipped out of the bed, grabbing pajamas to take with her to the bathroom.
“Hurry back and I’ll read you both a story,” I said in a softer tone. I hated snapping at the kids, knowing they got enough of that from our mom—on the rare occasions she was awake—and step-dad.
“Okay,” I heard her say as the bathroom door closed.
I grabbed the lotion and rubbed it into Tristan’s body. “Which pajamas do you want to wear?”
“The dinosaurs!”
I shook my head. I should’ve known.
I pulled out the pajamas with different colored dinosaurs on them. “Lift your arms,” I instructed.
Once he was in his pajamas, he climbed into his bed.
“Which story do you want tonight? It’s your turn to pick,” I rubbed my eyes.
“Um…” He thought, placing a small finger against his lips. “The Lion King!”
I grabbed the Disney book and climbed into his bed, leaving room for Ivy on my other side.
She came into the room a few minutes later.
“Ivy,” I groaned at the wet stringy pieces of hair framing her face. “You didn’t brush your hair!”
“But it hurts!” She argued.
I sighed, slipping out of the bed even though it felt so good to rest my tired body. I grabbed the detangler and a comb from the bathroom.
Sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, I motioned with my hand for Ivy to sit in front of me.
After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took the spot.
“You have to brush your hair or it will only get more knotted,” I told her, spraying her damp hair with the detangling solution. “I hate brushing my hair too,” I worked the comb through the ends.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “But your hair is so pretty and long, Row.”
“I like it long,” I shrugged, trying not to pull her hair, “but brushing it is a pain.”
“Ow!” She grabbed her head when I brushed through a knotted strand.
“Sorry,” I told her, kissing the spot in apology. “Better now?”
“A little.”
“There,” I patted her back when I was done. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
I returned the comb and detangler to their spots in the bathroom, before climbing back into the bed to read their story.
When I finished reading the story, Tristan looked up at me with wide eyes and Ivy snuggled closer to my side.
“Row,” Tristan started, “I wish you were my mommy.”
His words turned my stomach inside out. Both he and Ivy deserved better than my deadbeat mom, but they also deserved more than me.
