Just Passing

2. Quality Family Time

Every time I ask our Alexa what the temperature is outside she starts by giving me a 2-minute spiel about the current Weather Advisory for our area. It's in the triple-digits. Warning: excessive heat.

Her computerized and repetitive voice is annoying, but she's not lying. Just running a bag of trash out to the can is a pain. I should be thankful I don't have to wear a bra in this weather, my wife reprimands me. The heat is all-encompassing. It follows you into the shadows. Sticks to you. Weighs you down. And that means we've been inside all day. All week. All four of us.

Except, of course, when my wife gets to escape to work. Then there's just three of us stuck in the air conditioned house.

We've solved every puzzle, read every book, vroom-vroomed every car, and emptied and refilled every toy box several times. The older one, Spencer, has been bouncing off the walls. I used to think that parents were exaggerating when they told stories about their kids destroying a room in a matter of minutes. I don't think that anymore.

Just this morning he destroyed the bathroom in 30 seconds. Literally.

My wife was holding Nora, on the couch, trying to console her after "big-bother" ripped a toy out of her hand. So, I brought Spencer into the bathroom with me and closed the door. I was standing in front of the sink with one foot propped on the toilet lid. (You can only watch in horror as your son splashes around in toilet water like it's his personal birdbath so many times before you learn this trick.) He was sitting calmly as I first brushed my teeth and next covered my face with soap.

Then, I closed my eyes to scrub and rinse.

When I reopened my eyes, the bathroom had been redecorated. The washcloth bin was turned upside down. Every single roll of toilet paper had been unpacked. Bath toys were strewn across the floor. The shampoo bottle had been unscrewed and was pouring down the side of the tub. All that in the amount of time it took me to wash my face.

But at this blessed moment he's asleep in his toddler bed. His sister is sleeping at the same time for once, too.

For the first time in forever my wife and I are actually awake and alone together in the same room.

"I'm making you a PB&J for lunch," she announces, standing from the couch.

"You really don't have to, I'm not hungry." I'm never hungry these days. The heat has stolen my appetite.

"I'm tired of you not taking care of yourself. You need to eat, you don't look healthy."

Maybe I've lost a few pounds. I probably sweated them off. But unhealthy? Doubtful. I'm fine.

She takes a step closer to me and her slippered heel accidentally lands on my toe. "Ow!" I whine.

She leans in close like she's about to kiss me. When's the last time we kissed? I feel a tingle of excitement. I can feel her lips begin to brush against mine. "Why are you being such a miserable son of a bitch? You're home with your family all summer. You know how much I wish I had the summers off, too? You should be happy," she scolds in a loud whisper.

"I am happy," I insist, looking up into her cinnamon eyes. "I just need to get the fuck out of this house."

"You know how I worry about you. I hope that's all it is. And if it is, then, good thing we start swimming lessons tomorrow." She pecks my nose quickly and then marches into the kitchen.

Oh joy. I definitely don't have any traumatic associations with public pools.