Page 22 of As the Years Pass
Adam
What?
I laugh as I type out the texts, telling him how I have to replace the entire ventilation system, picturing the dirty look he’d give me if I were sharing this in person.
Chapter Eight
Adam
The morning sun shines over my face, waking me up a little bit more. I rarely get to sleep in, and every weekend that I sleep a little too long, I worry the kids are into something they shouldn’t be.
Judy has outgrown that—for the most part. But Ian is at the ripe age of getting into everything. His newest fascination is flushing things down the toilet. I fished two toy cars out of my toilet just last weekend.
I sigh, hoping for just a few more moments of the quiet morning. There is just something about the morning that is peaceful and comforting. Some people like it when it’s late at night, quiet, and dark. I prefer the morning light. It’s new and soft and wonderful. Though this morning it seems to be extrabright. A rarity here in Seattle. I miss the California sun, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to not having it. But my kids are here; they’ll be my sunshine.
“Dadadadada!” Little footsteps accompany the little voice that gets louder as Ian gets closer to my room. He zooms toward me, diving onto my bed, but not making it all the way.
I laugh as he grips the blankets, kicking his feet and grunting as he tries to pull himself up. He whines, and it slowly gets louder.
“Okay, buddy. Come on,” I say, grabbing him under the arms and hoisting him the rest of the way.
He gets right to his feet to jump, giggling while he does.
“Are you supposed to jump on my bed?” I ask as I watch him.
“No!” he says, laughing even harder.
I shake my head, then toss the blankets off and get out of bed.
“Dada has no shirt.”
“That’s right,” I say.
He proceeds to grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it upward. He struggles to get it off, stomping around and whining again. I lunge toward the bed when I see him moving toward the edge, and reach it just in time to catch him.
“Whoa,” I say, putting him on his feet. “This is why we don’t stand on the bed.” I pull his shirt off and toss it into the hamper. “Let’s go get the diaper off.”
He’s been doing really well during the day without a diaper, but during the night, we’re still working on it. As we pass Judy’s room, I hold my finger to my lips. “Shh.”
He giggles behind his hand, then mimics me. We head into his room, and I pull open his closet.
“What do you want to wear today?”
“Bluey!”
“You got it, big guy.”
I grab one of his Bluey shirts from the hanger and a pair of sweats from the shelf, then go to his drawer and grab socks and underwear. We go into the bathroom so I can wash him up quickly, then I help him get dressed.
“You want to help me with breakfast?” I grin, holding his childish gaze.
His eyes go wide, and he gasps, smiling a mile wide and nodding. He lets out a squeal and I think I hear “yes” somewhere in the high-pitched frequency. There’s no way Judy didn’t hear that.
I take his hand, leading us to the small kitchen that barely fits all three of us. I pick him up and put him on the counter to sit.
“Pancakes?”
“Yummy,” he says, rubbing his stomach.
