Sunday

Our night lasted until 8:30, at which time we asked Gordon, the bartender at the Silver Peso to call us a cab. “Forty somethings like you, no offense, want a flat yard.” Says the real estate agent sitting next to us at the bar. Why would I take offense at being called forty something? I’m thinking. I am forty something. Should I be offended at myself? Before we started talking to our neighbors Alan and I were having a great time people watching. We get to the bar after leaving the restaurant and taking a stroll around the town. I feel like I’ve never been to a bar before. I order a vodka with grapefruit. I only had one delicious cocktail at Picco because I can’t drink a lot and I really wanted to get a drink after. I take a sip, it’s a one drink kind of bar. It tastes like pure vodka. There is a drunk woman next to us yelling at a guy, “You don’t even know how to order a beer in French and you studied French, I studied Spanish and I know how to order a Cerveza.” He’s gets very quiet. She gets upset, stands up and walks to the other side of the bar to talk to some other guy. Alan said she is the bar slut. I said “How do you know?” He said “Will ya look at the head on her.” It was entertaining for a minute. Then the scene seemed depressing. I twiddle my fingers until our cab comes. The babies were sound asleep when we got in. It was the latest we’ve been out since they were born. I wanted to see them so bad! I go in the nursery this morning, both babies are awake. I take them up and give them a big hug. I take off their pajamas and dirty diapers. Jack starts running around banging cabinets and drawers and peeing on the floor multiple times. I clean up the pee and dress both babies in outfits for the day, our Sunday trip to the beach. “Berries, Berries, they love to eat their Berries.” I sing over and over again. Sunday morning. Coffee, bottles, banana. Alan’s making eggs, bacon, sausage, and mushrooms. I take care of Jack and Fiona and type a few words, between questions, “What time did they get you up this morning?” Alan asks. Or between reading The Little Blue Truck. I Put the babies down to play, sweep up the cheerios, strawberries. Butter our toast. “Do you want to start serving out the plates?” Alan asks, “But your bagels not ready yet.” I say.  “MMMMM” thanks honey, “Good breakfast.”  I hear gentle little pre-words Jack and Fiona make in the play room while I eat my breakfast, drink coffee and write. Alan sits at the Island drinking his tea, eating his breakfast and looking at news on his iPhone. Perfection.

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About Jenny Hynes

I am a painter, housewife, and mother of twins