#joble

“Every trip we take, you’re all negative about it until we get there and you have a great time,” Noble tells me. “Just relax and have fun, okay?”

“Not every trip we take--”

“Yeah, pretty much. You’re always too worried about having everything be perfect. But it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be us.” His arm nudges mine on the center console. “The boys will have fun, we’ll have fun, we’ll be exhausted by the time we get home, it’s all part of the experience.”

“Well the experience of everything changing at the last minute is not my favorite.”

“Oh so you’d rather hang out with Ben and Scott than be alone with your own husband—“ he teases.

The mention of our friends catches Cav’s attention and he excitedly pipes up, “Is Cleo gonna be there?”

“Nice work,” I tell Noble as he explains again, “No buddy, remember? Cleo is sick so she had to stay home.”

I think that’s what has me on edge this weekend. Scott’s the one who did the heavy lifting as far as planning this little weekend getaway. He and Ben brought their daughter Cleo to this fall festival last year, back when Noble and I were just starting the process to become foster parents, and I’m pretty sure this damn trip was like, their number one priority the second Cav and Trip moved in with Noble and me. Seriously, Scott booked the Airbnb back in March.

So I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious about having to suddenly do all my own research when Scott and Ben bowed out because of Cleo’s strep throat. I was all ready to postpone until next weekend, or maybe cancel altogether. But they, and Noble, insisted we stick to our plans. They’re even still covering their half of the cabin. So I didn’t have much choice.

“I see the pumpkin sign!” Cav shouts a few minutes later, and sure enough a giant, bright orange wooden pumpkin alerts us that the Parker Farm Fall Festival is one mile ahead.

“Are you excited?” I ask, an appropriate amount of conjured enthusiasm in my voice.

Both boys shout proof back at me.

“Trip, are you gonna pick out a pumpkin?” Cav says. “Your very own pumpkin?”

“I want a pumpkin!” Trip replies.

“Well guess what, Papa said we both get to pick out a pumpkin!”

Cav’s habit of speaking to his little brother like that—like Trip is still a little baby who doesn’t understand anything that’s going on, like it’s Cav’s job to explain it—usually gets on my nerves but I manage to ignore it as I roll past bored teenage attendants who direct me to the next open spot in the field full of parked cars.

“We’re here!” Noble announces. “Be careful boys, we’re in a parking lot…”

Stepping out into the crisp morning air, a deep cleansing breath helps to ease that lingering tension in my gut. In my frantic, last minute research of this fall festival, I read about all the events and activities to make a mental list of everything I thought we’d all enjoy. But I know Noble’s right, I need to relax and let the day unfold organically.

It’s not about checking boxes and rushing from place to place to cover every activity that caught my eye. Hell, Cav and Trip would probably be thrilled to spend the entire damn day on the moonbounces. It’ll be a fun, memorable weekend even if we don’t make it to every single attraction.

“Is there snacks here? Can we get popcorn?” Cav chatters across the parking lot. “Can we get a pumpkin that weighs a million pounds? Are we gonna see the inside? The slimy stuff…?”

“Snacks, yes. Popcorn, we’ll see. Million pound pumpkin, only if Papa carries it to the car,” I reply.

“Nuh-uh,” Noble tells him. “I’m the brains of this operation. Daddy’s the brawn.”

“What’s brawn?”

“Brawn means big, strong muscles.”

“I have big strong muscles!” Cav brings his fists up in a flex, nearly whacking the woman in front of us in line. “I’m the brawn.”

“Hey, son, watch out for other people,” Noble warns.

“Are you going to carry a million pound pumpkin to the car?” I ask Cav.

“I carry the pumpkin!” Trip insists.

“You’ll both get to carry a pumpkin.”

“Next in line?”

Noble and I usher the boys to the painted plywood booth. “Two adults and two kids,” Noble says.

“He’s three, is he free?” I wonder, swinging Trip up onto my hip.

“Sorry, just two and under. Do you want one-day admission or weekend passes? That includes the hot air balloon launch tomorrow.”

“We’ll do the whole weekend.”

While Noble pays, I manage to get green paper wristbands onto both boys and myself. Then we emerge from the gateway into the wide, dead grass expanse of the pumpkin patch.

“Whoa it’s a—!”

Cav is already barreling forward as I turn to Noble, his face a reflection of my own caught somewhere between amusement and shock. “Did he just—?”

“What did you say, Cav?” I call.

“It’s a bitch! Dad! Take a picture!”

“It’s a witch,” I insist. “A witch is… a magical woman. Bitch is not a nice word. We don’t ever say that, okay?”

I’m sure he’s not listening to me as he poses next to the wooden board painted with a cartoon witch, cat, and frog with open ovals where their faces should be. “No buddy, you have to go behind it and put your face in the hole…” I try to explain.

“Cav, Cav. Come here.” Noble tugs him by the arm and they disappear around the back of the photo prop with Trip. A second later their heads appear in the face holes and I snap a couple of quick pictures.

“I wanna see!” Trip shouts, while behind him Cav takes off in some other direction. Noble catches my eye with a happy, goofball smirk before chasing after him and I can’t help the little laugh that escapes me.

The kids’ enthusiasm is contagious and Noble and I just follow their lead. Within the first hour we hit up a moonbounce, climb on a display tractor and a huge pile of hay bales, take a detour to the line of port-o-potties, and convince the boys to ride down the giant homemade hill slides on our laps. And they don’t let us pass any of those painted photo-op boards without stopping for more pictures.

It’s been hard, parenting Cav and Trip, in ways we didn’t quite expect. Adding two preschoolers to our family certainly took some adjustment but we were pretty well prepared for those challenges, at least as much as first-time parents can be. The part that nobody warned us about was the inevitable drama of foster care — the constant scrutiny, the arbitrary demands, the frustration of sharing kids who feel like ours with another parent whose questionable decisions drag them, and us, down all kinds of unpredictable roads.

But here, away from the relentless bustle of the city, all that feels far away — almost like a whole different life. Here it’s just us, a normal family having normal fun, nobody looking over our shoulders. Standing next to my husband, who looks all casual and innocent in jeans and a thick, dark orange cardigan like he doesn’t know what he does to me. Watching our kids squeal in delight, free and uncontained and totally fascinated by the open space and the fresh air and the pit filled with dried corn kernels that will surely find their way back to our house like a thousand unwanted souvenirs.

No obligations, no real agenda — a strange feeling, entirely unfamiliar. Just this warm, overwhelming affection blooming in my chest against the chilly air as our younger son clambers back to us from across the corn kernel sandbox.

“Daddy! I wanna ride the train!” Trip announces, pointing at the tractor dragging a chain of little orange cars behind it.

I agree easily. “Alright, let’s go ride the train. Cav!”

“No, not the train!” Cav whines. “I want to do the big one with the big tractor where there’s ghosts!”

“We’ll do that too, the big hayride. After this, though, come on.”

Noble turns to me a moment later, a knowing grin on his face as the boys rumble away on the train. “Having fun yet?”

“I suppose,” I offer my easy answer as I try for another picture of the train.

His teasing elbow digs into my side. “Give me a break, you love this shit.”

“This? Having fun with them? Sure. But the port-o-potty situation here...”

He cracks up, throwing his head back with that whole-body laugh of his that never fails to charm me. “Okay, god, I’ll handle the next bathroom break. But come on. This is amazing.”

“It is,” I acquiesce with a chuckle. “Oh, but look. We’ve got to make them keep their heads up in those picture boards. Every single one, they’re looking down at themselves.”

Flipping through my phone, he sees what I’m talking about — all these pictures of the tops of the boys’ heads sticking through face holes as they look down at their painted corn cob or scarecrow or superhero bodies.

“It’s a difficult concept, clearly,” Noble laughs. “And hey, if my choices are looking up at you or looking down at my off-brand Superman six-pack, I’d probably choose the six-pack too.”

“I don’t need anyone to paint me fake abs. I’ve got the real thing.” I smack my hand against my stomach for emphasis, a quiet thump over my zipped hoodie. “Which you could too if you cut down on the pancakes and bacon—”

“Hey, okay, some ass-flavored green smoothie might be good enough for you in the morning but I’m not sending my kids to school without a real breakfast.”

“Yes, right, you’re father of the year,” I tease. “With the dad-bod to go with it.”

“Hey!” He drops his shoulder and checks me sideways, knocking me off balance a couple of steps until I grab his arm to steady myself. “Not even close. And like, I didn’t hear you complaining yesterday morning…”

“This is a family place, dude,” I warn.

“Where’d you even learn the term dad-bod?” He scoffs. “Like you’re all young and hip or something. Old man.”

I straighten my shoulders set my narrowed gaze on him. “Old man? That’s not what you were saying yesterday morning—”

“Look who’s back!” Noble interrupts loudly as the train rolls to a stop in front of us. “Did you have fun, guys?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cav shrugs like he’s too cool for this toddler train business. But the smile he’s failing to hide gives him away.

“Papa, I want popcorn!” Trip shouts.

“Yeah, popcorn!”

“Okay, let’s go find popcorn,” Noble agrees. As soon as he sets Trip down he’s running off with his brother, leaving the two of us to scramble quickly behind.

Our pace doesn’t seem to slow down for the rest of the day as Noble and I chase the boys around the property — moonbounces again, the petting zoo, a near-meltdown from Trip at the face painting booth, the big hayride that Cav insists on even though the sound effects that come from the bedsheet ghosts in the trees along the route freak him out. But the boys are still going strong and it’s my and Noble’s own exhaustion that finally makes us herd them to the expansive pile of choose-your-own pumpkins so we can accomplish that task and head back to the cabin for the night.

“There’s a million pumpkins!” Cav exclaims, his brown eyes wide in the waning fall sunlight. “I’m gonna get the biggest one.”

“Better get to work then, dude,” Noble tells him. “Climb on up there, go ahead.”

While Cav navigates his way to the middle of the pumpkin pile, Trip doesn’t make it past the first pumpkins he sees. “I want this one!” He shouts every time he tries to pick up a nice average-sized squash before it proves too heavy for him and he moves on to another one. I trail behind him, paying no attention to Noble and Cav climbing away in search of the biggest pumpkin they can find — which turns out to be a mistake.

“Daddy! Dad, me and Papa found the best pumpkin! It’s huuuuge!”

It takes me a second to follow Cav’s voice and then I scoop up Trip around his middle, tearing him away from his latest pumpkin of choice to reach his brother in the middle of the pile.

Noble stands on one foot with the other propped on their prize like he’s conquered it. “Look, Daddy, Cav found the one.”

“Oh he did, huh?” I pass Trip to Noble and circle to evaluate the pumpkin from all angles. “That’s a really big pumpkin, bud. I don’t know if we can even get it out of this pile to buy it.”

“Yes we can!” Cav insists. “I’ll help—” he squats, braced against nearby pumpkins, and tries to grip but his little arms barely reach halfway around this beast. He grunts and carries on with genuine effort but after an amusing moment he gives up with a sigh. “I think you gotta get it, Dad.”

“Cav, buddy, I don’t think…”

“Please?” He whines. “I want this one!”

“He wants this one!” Noble echoes.

“Then you pick it up,” I mutter at him under my breath.

Noble bounces Trip in the air and catches him. “My hands are full. It’s all you, boss.”

My dumbass husband — of course he’s over here acting like we can totally bring this thing home, he can’t say no to these kids. And I’m left to bring everyone back down to earth.

“It’s just too big—”

“Just use your muscles, Dad!” Cav insists, and dammit, I find myself humoring him too.

“Oh, geez. Alright, I’ll try. Watch out.”

Crouching, I act like I’m finding a good grip. But this thing must weigh sixty or seventy pounds, and with other pumpkins piled around it there’s no easy way for me to heave it out of here.

“I’m sorry, Cav,” I announce. “You’re going to have to choose another one. Something normal sized.”

“No, this one!”

“We can’t—”

“Please? Papa said!”

“Papa said we’d ask Daddy, and Daddy says no,” Noble interjects.

God, except for Trip losing it a little at the feeling of a paintbrush on his face — a disaster that was easily averted — we’ve had such a good day. But now Cav is nearing tantrum territory and I’m not sure anything short of this impossible pumpkin will make him happy.

I reach over and take Trip from Noble. “This is your mess,” I tell him over Cav’s indignant whining. “Come on Trip, we’ll go find you a little pumpkin.”

By now Cav has plopped his butt on a nearby pumpkin, arms crossed, facing away from us so we can’t see his classic grumpy pout. I let Trip loose with a bunch of other toddlers at an outer pile of smaller pumpkins, keeping one eye on him and one on Noble as he crouches next to Cav. Before long they get up and start perusing again. Cav still doesn’t look thrilled, but at least he seems to be moving on.

Trip is still jumping happily from small pumpkin to small pumpkin when Cav and Noble find us, a nice, reasonable, medium-sized pumpkin in Noble’s arms. “We’ve reached an agreement,” he announces. “Instead of one giant pumpkin — one medium pumpkin and one small pumpkin.”

“Yeah because medium plus small is like a big one,” Cav explains.

“Oh-kay,” I agree. “Sounds like a plan. Go ahead and pick a little one so we can go back to the cabin and watch a movie before bed.”

“Trip, you gotta go get your medium pumpkin so you have a medium one and a small one,” I hear Cav say.

“I think Trip is happy with his little one,” Noble calls before I can ask him exactly how many pumpkins we’ll be buying today.

“Couldn’t stick to the plan, could you?” I muse.

Balancing Cav’s pumpkin on one hip, he finds my hand with his free one and squeezes. “Hey, okay, the kid’s hardly seen a real pumpkin before, much less carved one—”

“I know, I know. I’m glad they have you around to make sure they get those experiences. We just need to, you know, be a little realistic.”

“And I’m glad we’ve got you to be realistic for us,” he murmurs. “Because fuck, I was not excited about carrying that beast home up three flights of stairs—”

“Shut up, you would’ve made me do it anyway,” I scoff.

“I would’ve… helped…”

“Liar.”

“I would have!” He insists.

“You’re a dirty liar,” I shoot back.

“I don’t know about liar, but that dirty part—”

“Oh god,” I cackle, leaning into him before I take the pumpkin he’s been holding. “Keep it in your pants, huh? And go help your son. That pumpkin’s about to knock him over.”

***

“Are they down?”

“Didn’t wake up at all,” Noble assures me. “Perfect transfers. I’m magical. Like a witch.”

“Oh good. Here you go.” I push a drink towards him across the counter and he takes it as he returns to the couch to turn off the Disney movie that the boys just fell asleep watching.

“This is okay,” he muses.

“Just okay? Is it not strong enough?” I take another inquisitorial sip of my own margarita.

“No, no, it’s pretty good. It’s just not, like, Ben’s Paloma good.”

I let out an incredulous laugh as I realize he’s just teasing. “Oh yeah? So you wish Ben and Scott hadn’t bailed, hmm?”

“It’d be fun if they were here,” he says. “We could play poker and I’d have some actual competition—”

“Oh!” I call out, a hand coming up to my chest like he’s wounded me. “They make better drinks, they play better cards…”

“They’d’ve let us bring home that huge pumpkin,” Noble adds.

“You’re as bad as the kids,” I tell him.

“It was an awesome pumpkin!”

“Well you know what—” I finish straightening up the small kitchen and grab my drink to join him. “I’m glad they’re not here.”

“That so?”

“Mhmm. Because if they were here, and we were playing poker and trying to carve some huge-ass pumpkin, then we’d be pretty busy.”

“Busy?” He stretches back against the couch cushions, propping one arm across the top as his gaze wanders openly down my grey t-shirt.

“Busy,” I repeat. “Too busy for this—”

Leaving my drink on the rustic end table, I smoothly drop to his lap, my knees settling on either side. With my hands free I’m quickly all over him, fingers turning his head up to meet my lips while my opposite palm slides down between us.

“Mmm, god, I’m never too busy for this.”

I shut him up with a hard, insistent kiss. He wastes no time reaching under my t-shirt, his hands a cold contrast against my skin after holding his icy glass, pushing the fabric up my torso until I duck out of it. As soon as I do, he steals the leverage I have over him and swoops me sideways, following quickly on top of me where I land on my back. My fists are in his hair, squeezing hard so I don’t make too much noise as he works biting kisses down to my shoulder.

Just as his touch trails lower, a suspicious noise from down the hallway stops us both short.

“I thought you said they were asl—”

“They were,” he insists. “Shh.”

Listening again, we’re met with only silence.

“Must've been the wind,” I conclude.

He pushes his weight off of me, sitting up on his knees. “Still. Does the bedroom door lock…?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Let’s hope.”

I reach a hand up and he grabs my wrist, heaving me up off the couch. “What if it doesn’t?” I wonder.