I glance out the window as I’m dragging three-year-old Madden out of the bathroom. He’s been doing great at potty-training, but I have to watch him closely because he’s obsessed with water and would flush the toilet all day if we let him.
Phillip is in the backyard, putting the finishing touches on the big play set he’s spent the last two weekends building. He built a smaller one when the kids were little, but since they’re getting older, he’s decided they need something bigger. This one takes up a fourth of the backyard with its rock-climbing wall, monkey bars, two slides, a sandbox, rope and regular swings, and a crow’s nest.
His shirt is off, and sweat is rolling down his muscles. I’d like to pull him in the house for a quickie before the older kids get home from getting fireworks, but a quick peek at my watch tells me there’s no time.
“Come on, Madden,” I say, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s go outside and check on Daddy.”
“Da-ddy!” he screams and takes off running.
There’s a reason we stopped after four kids. Madden’s been an adorable, energy-filled terror since birth.
As he tears through the kitchen, I stop to turn down the heat on the ribs that have been cooking all day in preparation for the Fourth of July party we’re having. Earlier today, the kids decorated and rode their bikes in the annual neighborhood parade, and later tonight, there will be a big fireworks display over the lake.
“Da-ddy!” Madden screams again, beating his head against the French doors.
I move fast, hoping to avoid a tantrum. I scoop him up, open the door, carry him down the stairs, and then let him loose in the backyard. He runs—well, sort of waddles—and then trips on the hose and crashes to the ground. I run up behind him to see if he’s okay, but he pops up and keeps going. Danny says he’s going to be a lineman.
Angel slowly follows us down the steps, her hips stiff with arthritis. I know she won’t be with us much longer. Phillip and I have actually started talking about getting a puppy to make it a little easier on the kids when she passes.
“Hey, Crusher,” Phillip says, calling Madden by his nickname. “You want to swing?”
“No! I slide!”
Phillip helps him climb up the ladder and lets him go down the twister slide. I run to the bottom to catch him.
“Let him do it himself,” Phillip says. “So, he gets the hang of—”
“Wahhh!” Madden screeches as he gets to the bottom and face-plants into the grass. He stands up, his eyes full of crocodile tears as he runs to me.
“Did you go boom?” I ask him.
Madden giggles when Angel, who’s protective of the kids, licks his entire face. Then, he yells, “Again!”
“See, he’s tough,” Phillip says, pulling me into his arms and kissing my neck. “By the way, my wife looks sexy.”
“I didn’t think I was ever going to get rid of the baby weight from him, but I’m finally back—almost—to normal,” I say, looking down at the new bikini I’m wearing.
“You look amazing. Always. And very patriotic.”
“You’re just horny.” I laugh, kissing him again. “I am, too, actually. I was watching you work out here with no shirt on. It’s too bad we can’t still put Madden in a playpen.”
“Well, what did you expect when you’re wearing a skimpy little red-white-and-blue bikini that reminds me of the one you had in high school?”
I don’t get to answer because his mouth covers mine in a deep, sexy kiss.
“Tonight, after the kids go to sleep and everyone goes home, you and me have a date in the hot tub,” he purrs. “We’ll make some fireworks of our own.”
“That sounds amazing.” I press against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him again.
“Oh, gross,” Chase says, flinging the back gate open, causing Angel to bound across the yard, her tail wagging furiously and making her look young again.
Angel loves all of us, but she loves Chase the most. She slept under his crib when he was a baby and has slept in his room pretty much ever since.
As Chase bends down and rubs her ears, he says, “Look, Dani, they’re kissing.”
Devaney Diamond—who Chase, much to Danny and Lori’s chagrin, has called Dani since he was old enough to attempt her name and who made it stick—puts her hands on her hips.
“Kissing is for grown-ups,” she says, repeating what Lori must have told her when she caught Dani giving Chase a kiss the other day.
Chase came home upset. He might look like me, but his personality is all Phillip. He’s smart and thoughtful. When I asked what happened, he told me that Dani kissed him but that Miss Lori got mad and sent him home. We had one of our most in-depth conversations to date about the birds and the bees.
Chase—who at almost ten is very tall for his age—grabs Dani’s hand, pulling her toward the play set, and yells, “Dad, can we climb on the rock wall now?”
Phillip reluctantly lets go of me. “Yeah, come over here, and I’ll show you how to do it.”
“We already know how, Dad,” our daughter, Haley James, says, rolling her eyes.
She’s only eight, but she has already mastered the teen eye roll. She’s also a walking contradiction—tough as nails but always wearing something pink or glittery. Because she’s our only girl—and I know my mom would have done it if she were here—I totally indulge and encourage her love of all things sparkly and girlie. She’s a beast on the soccer field and a good gymnast, and both she and Dani are on competitive cheer teams.
Danny, Lori, and their son, Damon—who will be a fourth grader this fall with Chase—let themselves in the backyard, carrying sacks of fireworks.
“We got a ton of sparklers!” Damon says. “And Dad says Chase, Dani, and I can light smoke bombs and snakes all by ourselves this year, if it’s okay with you.”
“I’m okay with that,” I say. “As long as you’re care—”
“Damon,” Lori chastises, “I told you that I don’t know if I’m okay with it. I think you’re all too young to be playing with fire.”
Damon and Danny both roll their eyes, giving Lori the same look. It makes me laugh. Damon is going to give them hell as a teen. Lori will freak out, and Danny will secretly be proud.
“He’s not going to be playing with fire, Lori,” Danny says. “Didn’t you ever get to light smoke bombs?”
“I’m sure I wasn’t allowed until I was in high school,” she states.
“We did when we were young,” I tell her. “And they won’t have fire. They’ll have a punk. And I’m sure the guys will give them a safety lesson first.”
“Says the girl who used to have bottle rocket wars with us,” Phillip says to me under his breath.
“Mommy, Mommy!” our middle son, Ryder, says. “Do I get to, too?”
I bend down and push his sweaty bangs out of his big brown eyes, ready to explain to him that he can’t until he’s older, but Dani beats me to it.
“Ry, you can’t yet because you’re only a kindergartener. When you are big like us, then you can.”
He points to his chest. “I’m not a kindergartener. I’ll be in first grade!”
“How about we let you choose the colors?” Dani says sweetly, herding him toward the swing set. “Get on, I’ll push you.”
“Look at me, Dani!” Chase yells, showing off as he swings his way across the monkey bars without falling.
“I can do that, too, I think,” Damon says, running over to try it.
Even though they are in the same grade, Damon is almost a year younger than Chase and is always trying to keep up.
Chase effortlessly leaps to the ground and says to Phillip, “Dad, can I do it now? Remember that thing you promised?”
Phillip nods his head, pulls out his pocketknife, and hands it to Chase.
I watch as Chase starts carving something on the new swing set.
“What’s he doing?” I ask Phillip.
“Just wait and see,” he says.
Chase works slowly and intently, and I can tell whatever he’s doing is important to him.
When he’s finished, he stands back and looks at his work, folds the knife up, and says, “Dani! Damon! Come look!”
Damon stops playing, looks at Chase’s carving, and goes, “Cool,” but Dani stares at it, a broad grin spreading across her face. It’s the same grin I used to see on her dad when he wanted to do something that was going to get us in trouble.
She punches Chase in the shoulder and says, “Tag, you’re it.”
I tightly close my eyes, praying he didn’t carve bad words into the swing set.
While the kids are running around, Phillip leads me over to the carving.
D.D.
+
C.M.
+
D.D.
=
BFFs 4Ever
Tears fill my eyes as I run my hand over the letters, instantly remembering the dream I had when I was in the hospital so many years ago. “How did he know about your carving?” I ask Phillip.
“I showed him the tree when we were up at my parents’ last month. He asked me if he could do it on the new swing set. We’ll never be able to tear it down now.”
“We’re really lucky, Phillip.”
“Every morning when I wake up next to you, I remember the day I thought I’d lost you both. I’m grateful for every day we’re together.”
“Me, too,” I say as Madden pulls on my shorts.
“Wadder,” he says.
“Does he want a drink?” Phillip asks.
“No.” I laugh. “He wants to play with the water.”
Phillip turns on the garden hose and hands it to him.
Madden puts his finger across the end of the hose and sprays Phillip as a thank-you.
“Ah, shit, that’s cold,” he yells.
“Shit cold!” Madden repeats. “Shit cold!”
“I think we need a beer,” Danny says, heading up to the deck where we’ll be able to sit down and still keep an eye on the kids.
Lori, Phillip, and I follow him. By the time we’re all sitting down, Danny has beers open and passed around.
“Here’s to the good life,” he says as we raise our bottles in a toast.
I giggle. “Remember the first time you said that?”
“I do,” Phillip says. “Eighth grade. That was the night we got drunk in the tent.”
“I didn’t get drunk, Lori. I was a good girl,” I say in my defense.
Lori takes a swig of beer and then teases, “Was that the one time you were good?”
“Probably,” Phillip teases back. “Just think, it won’t be too much longer, and our kids will be doing the same thing.”
Danny shakes his head. “I still feel like a kid. It’s hard to believe we have six kids running around down there.”
“And just think, Dani will start middle school soon,” Phillip says. “They say, once that happens, the next thing you know, they’re off to college.”
“That’s sad,” I say, looking down on our children.
Life is wonderfully crazy hectic for all of us with sports and jobs and life, but we can’t imagine it any other way.
“I was throwing the ball with Chase and Damon the other day,” Danny says. “Chase has a strong arm and a naturally good throwing motion. He could be a great quarterback someday. He’s going to be tall, too, I think.”
“The doctor thinks he’ll end up about six-five,” I say.
“Your son has magic hands,” Phillip says. “He can catch better than anyone on their team.”
Danny gets a proud father grin. “I think we should do another toast.” We hold up our bottles again. “Here’s to our children.”
“Here’s to our children,” Phillip and I repeat, looking into each other’s eyes.
I feel so incredibly blessed to be married to him. He’s so sweet, and he still treats me like a princess. My eyes wander down his shirtless body.
“And our beautiful wives,” Danny adds.
“And to our husbands’ abs,” I say, giving Phillip a wink and then clinking Lori’s bottle.
“Hear, hear,” she agrees.
