The washing machine did that thing where it rattles like it’s about to walk out of the kitchen. Friday swap. Rain on the window. Coffee cold before I even touched it. The app said 5 p.m. like it knows our life. It doesn’t.
Max hid his socks behind the radiator and told me shoes are unfair. Lily painted a heart on her backpack with glitter polish that now lives on the table forever. Jack asked if a T. rex could swim. The car seat was in the wrong car. Of course it was. My phone pinged at 4.58 with the usual, “running 20 behind.”
We stood under the porch light at 5.40. The gutter dripped a steady beat onto the top step. I tried breathing in for four, out for six. Max climbed the bannister and laughed at me counting. The car pulled in. He smiled like this was normal. It is, I guess.
We did the quick talk in the rain. Car seat, again. Next time, can we stick to the plan. He said he’d had a hard week. I nodded without giving him the easy out. I asked for a heads-up earlier than two minutes. He said okay. We’ll see.
After they left I did the tidy loop. Socks in pairs, mostly. Plates stacked. Wiped the glitter until it just became part of the wood. Found a blue toy car under the sofa, put it on the windowsill so it doesn’t get lost twice. The house sounded like a fridge and the last spin of the washer. Too quiet, then fine.
I looked at the calendar again. All those neat squares pretending to be control. Real life is wet coats, the wrong seat, a child who decides now is the moment to hate shoes. You move the pieces you can reach. You let the others fall where they fall.
At seven I reheated the same cup. It still tasted tired. I folded damp towels because waiting for perfect is how the laundry wins. Texted him one line with the car-seat model so there’s no confusion next time. No essay. No feelings. Just the thing we need.
By nine the floor was clear and the house had that end-of-day smell of soap and rain. Not peace, exactly. Just space. Tomorrow they’re back. We’ll start again with breakfast negotiations and someone crying because a banana broke in half. Normal.
Small notes for anyone else doing this: pick a half-hour window for swaps. Keep a spare seat in each car if you can. Pack the bag the night before, even if you’re wrecked. If a kid refuses to go, sit on the step with them for ten minutes and talk about anything except leaving. It works more than you’d think.
That’s it. No moral. Just a wet Friday that didn’t go to plan and still counted.