CONTENTMENT

By Meloira

You’d think by now my husband and I would have run out of energy. Being over the hill and parents of young twins after all, is not the world’s most common occurrence. Thank God we’ve never been common.

Somehow Carl still manages to get by on very few hours of sleep each night, pretty much the same as when it was just the two of us. He does have his limits though. Just the other night he woke both of us when he fell asleep at the computer and tumbled onto his keyboard. I should probably insist he work in the library, but I’d rather have him close at hand so I have some nice scenery when I wake up in the wee hours. Or, if I’m so inclined, demand he provide me with husbandly services. Never fails.

Of course, once he was in the middle of something important and I was forced to go over and get his attention. I finally distracted him by literally throwing myself between his eyes and the screen. End result? We made love in the chair and broke off yet another of its legs. Maybe next Saturday we should go look at some sturdier furniture.

I’m glad he’s found something to fill his life besides the kids and me. I thought we’d both rust when we gave up running Cory Publishing on a daily basis. I had my art but Carl was practically at loose ends. Then one day a switch went on in that magnificent mind of his and he decided to write down all his adventures, with certain names and situations altered, for all to read. All he needed was a pseudonym, and presto! My darling’s been on the top of the bestseller list for the last five years with his eighth novel ready to be published and his ninth in the works. The man never has writer’s block.

Whenever he’s had enough of semi-fictional seduction and derring-do, he climbs into bed. Most of the time, this doesn’t bother me. But on a cold night, with his cold hands and feet, I could just kick him right back out. If we were in dire straits, then I would not pause at sharing my warmth with the man I love. At two in the morning though, it’s not very desirable. He atones by graciously warming me up, asserting that his hands are more than capable of making me hot. Dear God, are they ever.

One particular night last week, I wouldn’t have cared about his invitation, well, not once he got me going, if not for the fact that I had an early appointment the next morning. He can always wake up looking like he slept twelve hours while I look like I slept on a pile of dirt. Still, a fully aroused Carl is a wondrous thing.

Looking through my calendar, I notice the dates marked off for our trip to New York. Just the two of us. We love our babies, but sometimes you just need to be alone and NYC is our favorite place. Before the twins we went several times a year. Oh, the fun we had. There are a few of those adventures that’ll never become bedtime stories. I remember on one occasion Carl had been there on business for a solid week. Without me. By Thursday night it had become unbearable. We’d practically melted the telephone wires between Bay City and his hotel room. So, in an effort to help us both, I decided it was time to join him. He was in the middle of a business dinner when I arrived unannounced and dressed to the nines. In the middle of ordering, an exceptionally erotic plan began to form in my lust-addled brain.

After the main course, but just before dessert, I excused myself from the group and waited in a dark alcove until he came looking for me.

"Are you alright darling?"

"Never better," I replied.

He noticed my smoky eyes and naughty smile and looked me up and down.

"Rachel, what are you up to?"

"Not a thing. Nothing. I just need you to put these in your pocket. Silly me, I forgot to bring a handbag." I removed my hand from behind me and placed my lacy underwear in his waiting hand. He was speechless, but he caught on. We almost didn’t make it back to our table full of guests…

Ah, the good old days. Still, I wouldn’t trade them for what we have now.

Most Saturday mornings are hectic in the Hutchins family. Today was no exception.

8:00 am

Carl and Elizabeth are both already up. He’s in the kitchen talking our dear Helen out of his way while my little Lizzie is scanning the TV for something that doesn’t insult her nine year old sensibilities. Neither she nor Cory watches a great deal of television, which is fortunate. I remember all too well the fights with my first three over their viewing habits. Other times they’re outside or on the computer in the library. Our grubs are very mature for their age.

While Elizabeth is like her father, Cory must take after a family member we’ve yet to meet. Most mornings it’s a chore to roust that boy from his bed. By eight thirty I’m ready to drag him down the stairs. Over weak protests I pull him down to breakfast where his father offers some sage advice.

"Give in lad. It’ll make things much easier."

I knew I married a wise man.

By nine-fifteen, our crew is ready to head our respective ways. Carl takes Cory to his ballgame while Elizabeth and I pick up Grandma Loretta and hit the town.

Dear Loretta moved to Bay City when the twins were three. She said we needed someone to look after us because we were constantly finding trouble and couldn’t look after ourselves properly. In truth, we believe that there was little left for her in the big city and that we were the family she’d always wanted. It really doesn’t matter why, because we love having ‘Grandma’ with us and so do the grubs. Though she’s right about the trouble.

For example.

Last year Paulina wanted to renew her wedding vows to Joe Carlino, king of Bay City’s finest. Snort. This time all the Carlino’s were descending upon Bay City. Which was only right considering the entire clan had somehow managed to avoid it first time.

For some obscure reason, which eludes me to this day, most of Joe’s family wound up staying…yep, you guessed it – at the Cory-Hutchins residence. We literally had to stack them in the hallway we had so many. I feel claustrophobic just thinking about it. And more than a little red-faced.

You see, around three we woke to an awful noise coming from the backyard that sounded like a small building crashing to the ground. In full protector mode, Carl rushed to the rescue clad only in the suit God gave him. Thank you God, by the way. I followed close behind in his pajama top. We found nothing catastrophic – just some fallen wedding decorations. Fortunately, none of our guests heard a thing or at least had not bothered to crawl out of bed to check.

Once we were sure the coast was clear of intruders, I was fully aroused and ready to lead my disrobed man upstairs and take full advantage of the full moon.

That’s when we tripped over a rather loud piece of patio furniture. A few scratches, a little blood, but no big deal. He said it was my fault due to the loss of blood to his brain – made him dizzy. So, of course our little commotion brought the entire house rushing outside to investigate. I barely managed to cover the family jewels with a lovely potted plant.

At the reception I discovered more than a few guests had witnessed our little nature outing. Female consensus was my husband was nicely endowed and I was one lucky woman. And I had shapely thighs. Tell me things I don’t know.

But that’s old news. Let’s get on with the present.

Within a couple of hours we had everything we needed. I’ll admit I’m not much on recreational shopping, but I do love spending time with my girl. This morning we had to pick up new shoes for her dance class. While both are in love with the arts, Lizzie tends to be the more artistic of the two. Not only does she take dance lessons but she’s also beginning to show some skill at sketching. Although last week Cory asked for piano lessons. Perhaps he’ll be the one with musical ability. When they were little, all four of us would spend hours in the studio playing with the paint and clay. The results are in an informal family gallery in the hallway leading to the library. But then both kids are exceptional in more ways than one.

Besides his father’s eyes, Cory inherited his father’s intuition when it comes to people and situations. And both are just as sneaky as Carl. Sometimes when I see the two of them with their heads together I shudder in a mixture of dread and love. They are the bane of Matt and Amanda’s existence despite the bond I’ve tried to build between them.

Noonish.

Everyone was home a little after twelve so Carl could take Elizabeth to her Saturday dance class. My nine-year-old daughter gravely promised she’d keep an eye on her Da and let me know if any of the other moms hit on him. But she said it with the sly smile of her father.

Meanwhile, Cory worked on a project in the studio while I spent some time catching up on correspondence and picking up after the grubs. We might have help, but as we’ve tried to teach the kids, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t lend a hand.

Our household tends to be very harmonious. There’s always laughter and singing and a general air of happiness and contentment. Carl wanted the kids raised on an equal diet of the classics and modern culture. That’s how we ended up with two Shakespeare spouting, opera-loving, well-read kids who are into things other kids their age ignore. They appreciate the adult stuff and the kid stuff almost equally. This makes them stand out from all the other children.

That’s one thing we worried about. We worried what the other kids would think about the grubs having parents who were, well, old enough to be their grandparents. After all, kids can be so cruel to one another.

We needn’t have worried. Both the parents and the children were slightly wary of us at first. Since Carl insisted the grubs attend public school, I’m sure they all thought we were slumming. They approached us tentatively at first until they grew accustomed to us. Then, when familiarity settled in, came the inevitable questions. Were the kids adopted? From a surrogate mother? Stolen? That one was meant as a joke, I’m sure.

I laughed at them.

No, I told them, I gave birth during a tropical downpour with virtually no anesthesia and a doctor who hadn’t practiced for a while because he’d been a once-blind fugitive from the law. And yes, it hurt like hell. Ask Carl.

I think we gained newfound respect after they learned the truth. I know Carl did, especially once he was given the chance to charm the ladies. Now we’re card-carrying PTA members and help out at the school whenever possible. Bake sales, rummage sales, talent shows and car pools. We love it.

You should see the women flock around my darling hubby. They’d eat him alive if he weren’t so fast on his toes. They’re constantly fawning around him like horny teenyboppers. Mary Gellar even jokingly suggested he man a kissing booth at the spring carnival. I mean really. Nice compliment, but flattery will get you anywhere but near my husband’s lips. No one could afford the price I’d put on his pucker anyway. Charity my rear-end.

I should mention the PTA talent show by the way. Carl pulled yet another trick out of his bag and performed a magic act. I didn’t know he knew any magic. Let me tell you, that’s the last time I’m wearing such a tiny outfit in public. I don’t care how many wolf whistles he gives me. That assistant getup is staying where it belongs – our closet.

By four we were all home and taking a short break. Very short. Around five I dropped our grubs at a birthday party while their father stayed home to work on a complex part of his next book. That’s where he was when I came home anyway, sitting in front of the monitor muttering and complaining. He never was much of a typist.

"What’s the matter darling?"

"This machine is about to find itself on the way to PC Hell. I think I just lost two chapters."

"Well, just wait until the kids come back and they can help you."

"They shouldn’t create machines your children can use more easily than you." His lip was still pouting.

"Poor darling, maybe I can help?"

He kept on grumbling.

"Okay then, just shut up and drop ‘em," I ordered, already halfway down my blouse.

Very rarely do I catch Carl off guard. Once I did it when I told him I loved him and again when I broke the news of my pregnancy. This time I thought his eyes would pop out of his head as he watched my impromptu striptease.

Seeing as he was practically frozen in place, I helped out by pushing him backward onto our bed. None too gently I might add.

"Rachel. Amanda. Pick up. Soon." So eloquent.

"No talking honey. Just go with it."

"But Rachel, the train station, you’ve, ooooh my, lower darling – you’re supposed to be there before long."

"Perhaps that’s why they named this a quickie."

In due time, I threw on my clothes and made my way to the train station. I’d left behind a stripped, barely coherent hubby on the bed that I hoped remembered to pick up our offspring.

Amanda is tapping her foot when I finally make it to the station. She’s been on a short trip after ending her latest bitter marriage. Poor dear forgot the pre-nup, so things didn’t go so well. I love my daughter, but not in prolonged doses during one of her ‘pity me’ stages. But the enormous smile on my face led her to believe I was more than happy to have her back in Bay City. She’d be ill if I told her what put that smile there. I believe she and Matt still hope I’ll see the light and divorce Carl just to hold themselves together. Too bad.

I’ve enjoyed raising my youngest children. There are times though I think I’ll be glad when they have their driver’s permits. Especially since we no longer employ a driver. But there are other times I want to hold them to me and never let go. I don’t know what we’ll do when they move out. Either kick up our heels or move with them.

Around 7:30 we’re all home again and discussing what to do with our evening. From the look in Carl’s eyes, I know exactly what Da would like to do. Me too, but it would have to wait.

Finally, we all agree to order takeout and stay in for the night. While I’m busy calling our favorite Chinese place and making sure we have plenty of ice cream, the three of them have disappeared. Not a good sign. Once before, I found them in the backyard in a mud puddle the size of a small country. They were building a mud castle. Leave it to my bunch to be different.

This time I catch them playing a wild game of rugby. Carl had never been this active until the grubs began to walk. And run. Over the last few years he’s gotten pretty good at almost every sport Cory and Lizzie play. He always was a quick study.

I make them shower before we eat and hubby pouts that he has to take his alone. We inhale our dinner around the living room table, comparing our day. Elizabeth asks if we can spend tomorrow at the lake and we tell them maybe. If it doesn’t rain. I think they’d go even if it did rain, they love the outdoors so much.

We spend the remainder of the night pursuing our own interests. Carl gives Cory another chess lesson, Elizabeth buries herself in yet another poetry book and I settle back to take it all in. It’s moments like these I realize just how precious the three of them are and how close I came to not having any of them in my life.

The kids go to bed without a fight, thoughts of tomorrow bouncing around their brains. A few stories and they’re on the edge of sleep. Carl makes his tour through the downstairs and joins me for our ritual. We stand at their doorway and listen to their peaceful breathing. Life is good.

We walk back to our bedroom in silence, content to merely hold hands. Well, actually, I’m thoroughly prepared to jump him right there in the hallway. Even after all these years.

The phone next to our bed rings and I dash to get it. Amanda. Amazing how she always knows when to call and save me from myself.

We agree to meet one day next week, then I make my excuses and yawn, letting her think I’m tired.

After all, there’s a delectable middle aged man sprawled across my bed, and I intend to find out if some things do get better with age.

See you later honey!

The end