You know those days that feel like they’re winding down nicely? The kid’s fed, the dog’s chill, you’re brushing your teeth thinking, maybe I’ll even read tonight…
Yeah. Not this one.
It started with Sara casually opening a piece of mail like it was no big deal. Spoiler alert: it was a big deal. Apparently, we’re now the proud recipients of a collections notice for an old medical bill.
Nothing says romance like shared debt.
Then, as if summoned by bad news energy, Sara drops her phone… and cracks the stove. Not the screen. Not the floor. The stove. Didn’t even know that was possible, but apparently our stove is made of glass and dreams.
Just as we’re processing that, I’m changing Paxton. He looks at me with this sparkle in his eye, real mischief brewing, and lets loose. Not once. Not twice. Three times. All while laughing. Like full-belly toddler giggle. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and was proud of his work.
And right when I’m wiping down the changing pad, his shirt, and rethinking fatherhood, my mom sends a message: Nana’s in the hospital and has sepsis.
All of this… within 15 minutes. One quiet evening turned into a tragedy. Honestly, if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry. But at least Paxton’s got a solid aim, Sara’s phone still works, and Nana’s got doctors looking after her.