I reopened the door to stash cardboard I used to protect the floor from spackle the previous evening. I closed the door. I reopened it to stash the baby gate we use to bar the steps in case Beren wanders through the house at night.
Back outside, Jared had disappeared to the nursery. "Jared, I'm not ready for you to disappear. I have to get changed. I don't even have a bra on," I had called irritably, not that I would wear one anyway. I was wearing a skirt and blouse. Too dressy I thought, and changed into a lighter, breezy blouse and a pair of linen Capri pants. I washed my grungy feet (Crocs are great, but not if you like clean feet) in the bathroom sink. I cleaned the toilet.
When our play date arrived, a three year old, accompanied by her mother, father, baby sister, and her aunt, Beren's hands were covered in red paint. He was barefoot and farmyard dirty. They played tee ball and in the sandbox.
The whole family was sweet, lovely. The parents are just shy of half my age. Our paths can be so different. And, they never set foot in the house.