Bedtime BoysA Story by J.A. Marquez
A dream of the past came to fruition late yesterday evening, much sooner than my once adolescent brain had ever imagined it would. To hear my children scream and play brought an unexpected grin upon my lips. I raised an eyebrow, nearly invisible in the shadowy sitting room. My husband groaned at the prospect of yet again having to swat a palm against their thinly padded rears.
"Stop playing boys!" I called into the master bedroom, where our offspring were often lulled to sleep by B rated children's films, and the slow passing of time. The stretch in my cheeks was unmaskable in the tone of the gentle reprimand. Quick as lightning the rumpus ceased and in its place rolled a steady whisper of conspiracy. "I used to day dream about this moment." I confided in my husband, who had chosen to ignore the continued low chatter. Before he had time to roll his eyes, mini footprints were being stamped into the pale kitchen linoleum. I chewed my cheeks, awaiting the expected greivances. "Dad, Zade was playing." Our oldest, Zeno belly ached. A second pair of feet padded through the box shaped hall that separates the master suite from the rest of the house. "I just heard you playing." Their father was gripped between hilarity and annoyance. "Go to bed." He hollered. In unison they offered reasonable protest. "You said you would put another movie on!" "Ood puda mooby Dad!" "You did say you would." I sided with the enemy. "Okay." He grunted, rolling from the coarse fibered sofa. The three disappeared as a herd of man children, stampeding through their natural habitat. I was left chortling with self-fulfilling glee. The throws of laughter stole my time, and before long a tired daddy was bumbling back into the living room. "I am not kidding. I have literally dreamed, in detail, about this exact moment." I mildly exaggerated. He shook his head as he plopped back into the still warm indentation on the couch. We laughed together and recounted the episode in a decriminalized light. "It's like, God! I JUST heard you playing." He griped in a staccato breath of irony. I hummed my agreement, soaking up the last sweet moments of this milestone in mommyhood. A comfortable silence settled over the room, aiding the darkness in spreading calm throughout our house. We breathed interchangably, picking up whiffs of microwaved burrito, diaper cotton, and a lingering medicinal essence. My husband parted his lips, releasing a final forgiving sigh. Before the last molecule of air escaped into the room, the tell tale tramping echoed at my back. We both caught our breath and tentatively awaited the overture of our oldest child's misplaced woe. "Dad," He sighed in a melodramatic coo. We braced for impact, our teeth instinctively clenched. He didn't wait for us to acknowledge his presence before loudly accusing his baby brother. "Zade is hitting me." With coreographed accuracy our palms struck our foreheads, as we supressed the amusement that was inked onto our faces. I looked to my husband and he looked to me. "Go to bed Zeno." We chimed in a rare moment of conference. The work of a parent is never complete. © 2015 J.A. MarquezAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorJ.A. MarquezSouth Lake Tahoe, CAAboutIf you want to know who I am, read my stories. Many are works in progress, and many are just a few sentences, but each one is a piece of my soul. more..Writing
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