Page 6 of Time for Change

“Mom says it’s never too early to decorate for a holiday,” she informs me. “Plus, I think I want to get a small tree for my bedroom at your house too. One I can leave up all the time and decorate for the holidays. Can I?”

“Me too!” Christian hollers, kicking his feet out in excitement and slamming his foot into the back of my seat.

“Don’t kick, buddy,” I say, looking at him in the rearview mirror and offering a smile when he grins at me.

“Sorry!”

“Do you need a tree in your room too?” I ask, even though I know what the answer is going to be. My ex-wife, Mya, loves Christmas, and every room in her house has a tree of some size or kind. I’ve been told one in the family room stays up year-round and is decorated with seasonal décor.

“Of course I do,” Gianna insists. “I want a white one with beach ornaments for the summer. But I can put red and pink hearts on it for Valentine’s Day and colorful eggs on it for Easter. Ohhh, and spooky spiders and ghosts for Halloween.”

My eyebrow rises. “Why beach themed? We’re nowhere near a beach, Gi.”

“I know, but it’s so pretty there. Remember when we went to that beach in South Carolina and Christian got splashed by that huge wave when we were collecting shells?”

“It knocked me down!” he bellows, his annoyance making me smile.

“That was so funny,” Gianna chuckles. “Anyway, I saw a tree online and it had the prettiest beach ornaments. Can I do that at your house?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just a small one though. Like a tabletop tree.”

“Of course,” she singsongs quietly from the back seat, a sly grin on her lips.

“Me too!” Christian hollers. “I want a race car tree! With an ornee-ment that says shake and bake!”

“They don’t make those,” Gianna tells her brother.

“Uh huh! On Etsy.”

My eyes narrow as I glance back at him in the rearview mirror. “How do you know what Etsy is?”

He shrugs. “I know things.”

Snickering, I drive toward our house and pull into the driveway. Everyone jumps out and grabs book bags just as the first few snowflakes start to fall.

“It’s snowing! Can we play outside?” Gianna asks as she bounces up the front steps of our home.

“It’s already dark,” I remind them. “Let’s see how this weekend looks. Maybe we can see if Uncle Caden wants to come over for pizza tonight.”

“Yay!” both kids cheer as they run inside the house. Boots, gloves, and coats are flying, and of course, nothing is put where it’s supposed to.

Sighing, I decide this isn’t a fight I want to pick right now, so as soon as they both take off for the kitchen with their book bags, I arrange their boots on the mat and hang their coats inthe closet after stuffing their gloves into the sleeves. Once my own coat is hanging, I kick off my boots and follow the sound of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I ask when I reach the kitchen.

“Christian told me his teacher farted in class today,” Gianna announces through her giggles.

I can’t help but smile when I see my little man practically doubled over in his chair and laughing. “Farts are normal,” I remind them, even though I admit, they’re pretty funny.

“Not for girls,” Christian insists, pulling his take-home folder out of his book bag and grabbing his papers.

“Who told you that?” I ask, taking the papers he tosses onto the table.

“Mommy. She said girls don’t fart, they toot.” And then he promptly bursts into fits of giggles.

Shaking my head,I have to fight from laughing. “Well, I think they’re the same, but it’s a universal body function. Everyone does it.”

“Not me!” Gianna bellows.

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