Chapter 7 Blake
BLAKE
I hang up the phone, wondering how the hell Satch does it. Five kids. Five!
I can barely cope with two. Plus the dog… although he’s probably a better parent than I am sometimes. He’s like a built-in babysitter the way he follows the girls around and watches over them for me.
You know, some days I wonder if I’m even cut out to be a mother. But Grady really wanted kids, and I thought it’d be a fun adventure.
It’s definitely something.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my girls. I adore them.
I’m just not sure parenting is my jam.
Some days I enjoy it, some days I wish I could escape from it, but mostly I worry that I’m just not very good at it.
When it comes to children, everything seems to come so naturally to Satch. All of her kids are polite and kind and do as they’re told without any fuss. She’s organized, and her house is always tidy.
Mine, on the other hand… I do a slow spin and take in the chaos Kendall left in her wake. There are toys everywhere. Oh man, Grady’s going to hate it. He always insists the girls clean up after themselves before leaving a room, but I’m just not onto it enough.
Sure, I’d love a tidier home, but I refuse to be that nagging mother who is constantly making demands on my children. I want them to enjoy childhood and have fun. And if that means leaving a mess behind, well… so be it!
With a huff, I bend down and quickly gather up the worst of the mess, wondering where Kendall is.
Thank every star in the sky, but my precious three-year-old is now old enough for preschool three days a week.
I’m upping it to four the day after her birthday.
At this stage, though, I’m home with her on Thursdays and Fridays.
And they are the longest days of the week.
She gave up naps before she turned two. If I let my bright little button sleep during the day, she’ll be up until midnight.
If I manage to keep her awake, Grady and I actually get an evening together.
Our little terror was climbing out of her crib at seventeen months, and I’ve been chasing her ever since.
Where is she now?
“Kenny?” I call out. “Where are you, baby?”
Silence.
Never a good sign.
But Grady will be home any minute, and while he won’t openly freak out, I know this mess will bother him.
I’m sick of coming across like the useless mother who can’t handle things.
On the odd Thursday or Friday when he’s home and takes over child responsibilities, the house always runs like clockwork.
He’s never the hot mess I am, and dammit, I’m kind of over this.
Dumping the toys into the basket, I pause by the window to take in the blanket of snow that fell last night. It’s now a blue-sky day, and what I wouldn’t give to grab my camera and hike into the woods at the back of our property. I could spend hours in there, snapping away to my heart’s content.
But nope.
I’m on kid detail.
“Kendall!” I call again, and the silence is becoming ominous.
Shit. I better go look for her.
Picking my way around the rest of the mess, I take a moment to throw a few more toys into their rightful places and make sure the cushions are back up on the couch.
“Kenny, baby. Where are you?” I try to keep my voice light and singsongy, attempting to get a giggle out of her.
Grabbing the trail of clothes up the stairs, I bundle them in my arms and head up toward the bedrooms.
Oh shit, I hope she hasn’t put herself down for a nap. Very occasionally she does this, and then she’s up for the rest of the night.
I rush to her room and am relieved to find her bed empty.
My gosh, you can barely see her bedroom floor.
I wince, closing the door and hoping Grady won’t do one final check in here. We packed everything last night so we can hit the road as soon as he gets home with Nichelle.
Now that we’re living in Crested Butte, we’re about a four-hour drive from Nolan.
I never thought I’d want to live in a town even smaller than my college home, but when I graduated and Grady got recruited for a job working in the Gunnison National Forest, we took it. And I’ve loved our time here.
It’s been six years, and both our girls were born in this cute little town. I love the community, I love having a forest in my backyard, and I love, love, love all the photos I get to take.
My nature shots have been doing pretty well.
I’ve been selling my prints online ever since I got pregnant with Nichelle, and it helps to supplement Grady’s income.
We were able to purchase this house when Nichelle turned one, and although things get tight occasionally, we’re totally making it work.
It helps that my parents are excessively generous, and I always have that trust fund I can dip into when necessary.
I’ve also become the town’s freelance photographer. I didn’t mean to, but I ended up taking photos at a local celebration, and when I posted them on social media, a lady on the council went nuts for them.
I’m now the girl with the camera at all town events and have also picked up some family photo shoots. Those pay really well, and they definitely keep me busy around Halloween and Christmas when everyone wants to take a pic in their costumes or for their annual family card.
Yep, I seriously love my job.
And it keeps me upbeat on those days when I’m going out of my head trying to look after my kids and “unsuccessfully” run this home.
“Ken-dall,” I call down the hallway. “Where are you?”
Pausing next to the girls’ bathroom, I try to listen out for her, but she’s seriously so quiet, which means she’s up to no good.
Grrrr!
Heading for our bedroom, I almost don’t want to go in there, but I force the door open and spot my heels scattered near the door of the walk-in closet.
Okay, so she’s playing dress-up.
Not so bad.
“Kenny?” I sneak up to the closet door and peek my head inside, my shoulders deflating when I don’t see her.
And that’s when I hear a soft snap and click coming from the en suite.
Oh shit.
Walking through the door, I jolt to a stop when I spot my daughter’s reflection in the mirror.
She’s covered in makeup, her cheeks two bright pink circles, her eyebrows and forehead smeared with blue eyeliner, her lips a shocking red…
and my bathroom vanity a rainbow concoction of all my makeup.
Like, everything from my most expensive lipstick to the mascara and…
Dammit, double shit, and no!
Pressing my lips together, I strain to keep my voice light. “Kenny, baby. You know you’re not supposed to get into my makeup.”
I should be telling her off for this, putting her into a time-out, using a firm voice and reprimanding her. This isn’t the first time she’s gotten into my makeup and wasted hundreds of dollars dolling up her face.
She knows she’s not supposed to be in here!
“Kenny pity!” She beams, her adorable smile making it impossible to get all huffy and mad.
Maverick barks beside her, and I lean around her body to see our beautiful German shepherd covered in stickers.
Ugh! He’s due at the neighbors’ house any minute now. They’re looking after him while we’re away, and they won’t want to spend the next hour de-stickering him!
All I can do is grip the door handle, wince, then whimper when the front door downstairs pops open and I hear Grady’s voice calling up to us. “We’re home! Think we can hit the road in five minutes?”