I’ve helped everyone start their homework, and I’ve taken the dog out. He tricked me though and didn’t pee. He just ominously stared into the darkness behind my house. I think he knows just how to freak me out.
Or, he knows something I don’t know about the forest back there.
My house is quiet now. The sophomore is doing her Art History homework, the third-grader is reading a Captain Underpants book. The 6th grader finished his reading (Good Dog) so I think he’s doing scratch or very quiet youtube. It’s quiet though, so instead of checking on him, I write. (I should teach a parenting class, no?)
Did I mention that my house is quiet now?
The dog can sense the quiet so he does his little growl-bark. Again.
“We’ve been through this, Finn.” I tell him.
“If you are lying, I’m going to be mad.” I say as I get up and put my shoes on, open the door and take him out.
He sniffs around. Again. I have to shine the flashlight because if I don’t, that’s when he will find a toad, chase a toad, try to eat a toad, and (hopefully) spit out a toad. I just don’t want to end my night by prying a toad out of my dog’s jaws. Please.
Finn slowly starts towards the back of the house again, and I wonder if maybe this is my small moment of the day; the dog sniffs, the dog barks, the dog is a liar and doesn’t have to pee. “Wow,” I think, “my life is super exciting!” A new thought creeps in though. I hope my story doesn’t get too exciting, too scary, too interesting. I don’t need a skunk, or a bear or an intruder.
“What if I can’t even finish writing my slice because I get attacked out here while my kids are inside doing their homework?” (I knew I didn’t like homework)
This thought is interrupted by Finn finally finding a spot to do his business.
Inside, it’s still quiet, but now it’s bedtime. Wish me luck.