Cahoots

Laughter comes from the room opposite the seat where I sit.

A ball bounces out the open door.

My music makes it hard to know what they are saying to each other, but I can tell they are smiling.

From here, I can see her driving his wooden gear-constructed tow truck – a stocking stuffer from the hardware store – along the windowsill.

The dog barks, that I can hear clearly.

“Roofus!! Get her! Bite her!” They laugh. Of course he won’t bite her. He’ll just growl and climb on them while they rough house on my bed.

“I like your socks.” The sounds of slapping ensues. Slapping and laughter. This is what having an only child is like sometimes, sometimes parent play, sometimes sibling.

“Ouch!” he says.

Bark! Bark! Bark!

“No!” he also says.

All falls quiet. Will they retreat to separate corners? No yet:

“Do you want Mom to play Minecraft with us?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Morg! Wanna come play Minecraft with us for a bit?” he calls from where they are.

“Yeah,” I call back. I thought we were going to play Cahoots, but Minecraft will do. It will keep us in the same room for now.

And that’s all I need. Gotta go.