Page 53 of The Doctor's Surprise Family

Blake pretended to consider little Mike’s question. “Do they bite? Well, let’s see. Should we go and find out?”

Mike’s eyes went wide. Oli stuck out his tongue.

“They aren’t real, doodiehead. Fake horses can’t bite.”

Blake raised a brow. “Oli? What did Mom say about ‘doodiehead?’”

Oli sagged. “Don’t say it.”

“That’s right. It’s rude. What do you say to Mike?”

“Sorry,” said Oli. “You can go first in line.”

The kids all ran to line up for the carousel. Blake helped them get settled, when it was time to get on. I sat beside him to watch them go round.

“You’re a natural,” I said.

“Really? You think so?” He looked down at himself. “I have weird yellow handprints all down my leg, and I can’t figure out which one of them did it. When I checked all their hands, I swear they were clean.”

I cast my expert mom’s eye over the stains. “Mustard,” I said. “And you didn’t see it on them because now it’s on you. Be glad it was just their hands, and not snotty noses.”

“So I’m just a huge tissue now?”

I laughed. “Pretty much.”

We watched the kids go by and wave as they passed, and Blake called to Oli, “Both hands on the pole!” He was getting the hang of the whole parent thing. I’d worried at first he’d try to be Oli’s buddy, and never set limits or tell him no. Then he’d be the fun parent and I’d be the drag. Instead, I was the relaxed one who’d seen it all, Blake the anxious newbie scared Oli might break.

“Mom! Dad! Look at me!” Oli swung by again, leaning back in his saddle.

“Hold tighter,” called Blake.

I took his hand. It was nice having backup. Later, we’d team up to feed Oli his dinner, read him his story, and get him to sleep. Then, we’d steal a few minutes just for us two. Three short weeks ago, I’d have dreaded that thought, the idea of being alone with Blake. But now it felt warm and familiar and good, a safe place to crash at the end of the day.

“You okay?” said Blake. “You sure you’re not tired?”

I leaned against him. “I’m perfect. Thanks for coming today.”

Oli got the sniffles Blake’s third week home. I thought it had missed us when it went around Little Bugs, but he came home on Friday quiet and lethargic, and wouldn’t eat his sausage at lunch.

“It tastes funny,” he said.

Dad frowned. “Funny how?”

Oli yawned. “I don’t know. It tastes boring. Can I be done with lunch?”

I was about to say no, then I noticed his eyes, glazed and too bright, swimming with tears. He was teetering right on the verge of a meltdown, and one little push would be all it would take.

“Okay,” I said. “Wanna go take your nap?”

And somehow, that did it. Oli’s eyes streamed.

“I’m not tired,” he wailed. “You said we could play! You said Dad was coming, and you said we could play!”

“We can still play,” I tried, but Oli didn’t hear me. He was howling full-force into his plate, red-faced and snot-nosed, kicking my chair.

“I don’t think he slept too well last night.” Mom reached over to soothe him, but Oli pushed her away. “I heard him singing this morning, when I got up for breakfast.”

Mom got up early through long force of habit, usually around five or six in the morning. If Oli was up, she was probably right.

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