Char’s PT routine is not limited to work with her physical therapist and walking in the pool; she does a considerable amount of stretching at home, usually in the evening after the kids have gone to bed or are engrossed in homework or something on TV downstairs. The stretching is not comfortable by any means and is wrought with frustration and frequently tears because it still fucking hurts. It hurts enough that she says most of the time she’d rather give birth to a fifteen pound kid every night than go through it, but she sucks it up and does it anyway.

Some of the stretches require help, but for the most part the help is verbal; after a few minutes she wants to quit, and I have to sit on the floor with her and talk her through it, and sometimes I have to be the bad guy and get pushy about it. For fifteen minutes a day she hates me, but I can live with that.

Yesterday I took Rachel and a couple of her friends shopping, several hours of wandering the mall while they shrieked and giggled and pointed at boys they knew and boys they wanted to know. I followed a reasonable distance behind them, close enough to be right there but far enough back they were able to talk without me listening in and far enough that those boys wouldn’t necessarily guess they had a chaperone. I think Rachel’s friends had expected I would drop them off and pick them up later, but they’re twelve. I don’t care what their parents do, my daughter does not wander around the mall without adult supervision. I trust her; I don’t trust other people. When she hits fourteen, maybe then, but for now she’s stuck, even if she hates it.

Half an hour into their marathon shopping the friends realized having Rachel’s dad hanging back wasn’t such a bad thing, because he was willing to carry all the bags of crap they were accumulating. I didn’t mind, but by the time we got home I was exhausted; physically from carrying all their things for several hours, and mentally from all the gossip, giggling and shrieking.

I admit, I wasn’t in the mood to push Char into stretching beyond what she felt comfortable doing; I knew that a few minutes into it she would want to stop, and I also knew that I’d have to bite my tongue until it bled to keep from snapping at her. I think she knew I didn’t feel like sitting there cheering and jeering her on and she tried to opt out for the night, but not doing it isn’t an option, not now.

We both sucked it up, and we were both glaring at each other. Five minutes into it, right about the point of pain and resistance on her part, and right when I could already feel my temper notch up, we heard the boys in the hallway, and heard Alex say Don’t knock on that door, Kevin. Not right now.

I have to ask Mom something

Not now. If you need something I can get it or Rachel can get it.

I need to talk to Mom!

Char started to get up but I shook my head and peeled myself off the floor.

Later.

But why?

My hand was on the doorknob when I heard Alex saying, through gritted teeth, They’re. Probably. Naked.

Oh. He paused and then asked, Well, how long does that usually take?

I pulled to door open and Alex was standing there holding Kevin up, his hands under his little brother’s armpits, so that they were face level. Kevin looked at me, head to toe and determined I was shirtless but not pants less, and he looked back and Alex and said I guess it doesn’t take very long at all.

Alex shrugged, and he didn’t put Kevin down. My temper waned with the absurdity of Kevin’s size 5 feet dangling at least two feet off the floor, and I had to grit my teeth together to keep from laughing.

Char wasn’t as successful and was lying on the floor snickering, but managed to ask Kevin what he wanted.

I forget now.

Alex turned around, still dangling Kevin from his hands, and walked down the hall into his bedroom. Char was on her back on the floor, grinning, and willing to finish stretching. No complaints from either of us. When she was done I helped her up and she arched an eyebrow suggestively and asked Want to find out how long it takes?

Then Kevin remembered what he wanted.