Page 28 of Momcom Vacation

But we’re all making it work.

Once again, I do a quick head count.

People have no trouble leaving their kids in my care because I have the chill. I can keep track of them and control the chaos. I follow the rules and adhere to the lists.

Everyone is sun-screened so no one will burn. That, at least, I can promise Shay.

Since Enzo is still MIA, I’m paying extra close attention to the twins. They’re sitting in the sand surrounded by buckets and shovels, but rather than digging and building sandcastles, they’re whispering back and forth. Plotting. That isn’t good.

They’re smarter than any of us adults, so given time, they’ll come up with some kind of elaborate scheme.

Beckett needs to get out of the house and off the damn phone. I get that Coach Wilson is away—purchasing art in New York or something like that—and Hannah is alone, holding down the fort for the Revs, but it is the offseason for baseball, which means it’s the on-season for kid-rearing.

So I need him.

Bossman doesn’t love that we’re hiding in the sand in a cove around the back side of the caretaker’s house. But we couldn’t stay inside a minute longer.

The kids need space to run and expend their pent-up energy.

Finn and Kai are down by the water. They’re both great swimmers and wearing life jackets, so I’m not concerned. At three, Addie can’t swim yet, but she’s also buckled into a life jacket while she and Winnie collect shells a good ten feet from the shore.

And Liam…Liam is…I spin in a circle, finding him up by the house chatting with a dark-haired girl.

He shifts on his feet, moving a hair closer to the young girl, and smiles. The kid never smiles. He’s probably flirting too. Visions of teenage dating and safe sex talks swamp me. Shit. I swallow. I’m the father figure here. I can do that.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Mom: I know you said no large centerpieces so people can see each other. But Tavern on the Green has a romantic garden theme option. We’ve decided to make the room into a fairy garden. Dylan will adore the idea. But without the four-foot draping centerpieces, it’ll lose the magical feel. So look through these options and tell me what you think.

Mom: Twelve photos of massive white centerpieces

I blink at my phone. Fairy garden. Twelve options.Take a deep breath.

Mom: Also, we’re adding a couple of entrée options, so we’re reworking the menu. I can’t remember what you said about the carving station for the cocktail hour. Did you want prime rib or filet?

Mom: PDF of menu

I grind my teeth.

Mom: I found the perfect string quartet to play during the ceremony, so please pick eight songs from this list.

Mom: Music selection

“Every kid eats sand.” Rowan approaches, tossing a ball back and forth between his hands.

“Sand?” I lock my phone and push away thoughts of the wedding. If I don’t, I’m liable to have a heart attack.

“Yeah, I figured that”—he points to the ground beside me—“is what’s causing theoh shit, is Willow going to die?look.”

Heart lurching, I whip around to the beach blanket I spread out for my daughter. My strawberry-blond baby girl has crawled off the square of fabric and is now shoving a fistful of sand into her mouth.

“Willow, no.” I scoop her up and brush the grittiness from her cheeks and lips as best I can.

Every kid eats sand.

Relax.

You have chill.

---