Scene: We are driving home from a "family" dinner at our best friends' house. I'm driving, Eric is writing phone e-mails to the school nurse, and the boys are listening to Roald Dahl narrate his books. (Love the books on CD, but Roald has GOT to work on not dropping his voice at the end of sentences. It's almost as grating as vocal fry.)
I may be gently expressing some frustration that Eric hadn't seen his kids all day but still spent a good portion of the family dinner evening either texting another coach, or making lewd jokes about homemade pizza toppings. I also may be generous with my use of the word "gently."
Ali: Eric, it really pisses me off when you complain about us leaving late when I spent the good part of the end of the evening trying to clean up with our children who were on a sugar high. I didn't see you stepping in to help expedite our exit. Shoot! I hate getting stuck behind a MARTA bus!
Eric: You should have taken Clairmont Road! And watch your language.
Ali: You should have thanked me for being the DD. Listen, I am sorry for getting angry, it just bothers me that you didn't help at all with the kids when we were trying to pick up and go home. And there is no reason you had to text that coach at our friend's house. Sometimes you just don't...think.
Miles: Daddy...you are beautiful.
And we all erupt in laughter. Everything is forgotten.
I think I birthed a life coach.