It had been so stupid. Ben had left one of his cars on the floor, and she’d slipped. Now she had a strained ACL and was walking on crutches. Jim was out of town on a business trip, leaving her alone with a toddler and an infant, when all she wanted to do was lay in bed and not move. 

            “Owww…” Pam rubbed her leg. Most of the pain had died down, but every once in a while, the pain flared up again.

            Ben looked at her curiously. “Mommy hurt?”

            “Yes baby, my knee hurts,” she’d explained. It’d been a few days, but the idea of the injury was still curious to him.

            Ben jumped up unexpectedly and ran into the bathroom. Pam watched him confused. He ran out with his Spiderman bandaids, and proceeded to stick bandaid after bandaid on her knee. After four or five of them, Pam quickly covered her knee with her hand, before he used up the whole box.

            “Wait mommy! I gotta kiss it!” Pam moved her hand, and Ben gave her knee a big sloppy kiss.

            And somehow… no matter how many aspirin she took or braces she tried, nothing helped her feel better more than the Spiderman stickers and the sloppy kisses.

            Pam had never been a fan of reading. She’d read every once in a while, and usually had some trashy romance novel stashed somewhere, but, overall, she could take it or leave it. Jim, however, had a passion for reading that she’d never known about. While she was still pregnant, he would read stories to her bump – everything from Dr. Seuss to 2,000 Leagues Under the Sea. When Ben was born, the tradition was set. At bedtime, they would all gather around, while Jim read the story of the night.

            “And he blew the house down. Whoooooooooo Whooooooooo oink oink,” Jim the book aloud, the pigs and wolf coming alive with his actions. He waited until the laughter died down, flipping the page to continue.

“Look sister, I see our brother’s house up ahead,” he said in the high, squeaky voice of the pig. “Oh, yes, our smart, smart brother, who built a house of bricks. That surely will protect us from the evil wolf,” the second pig said adoringly. Even Sophie laughed, too young to understand what was being said, but she enjoyed listening to his voice change and the silly actions he always did along with the stories.

            “‘And down fell the wolf, straight into a pot on the stove,’” Jim said, his voice dropping as the story ended. “And you know what? Then the pigs took the wolf to Uncle Dwight, who had a great recipe for Wolf Stew!”

            “No daddy! They’re just cartoons!” Ben said, exaggerating the difference.

            “And Uncle Dwight isn’t?”

            Pam rolled her eyes. “Okay, boys, time for bed.” Sophie had already fallen asleep in her arms, while son was still something from story time.

            “No, more Pigs!” Ben protested.

            “Tomorrow night, I promise,” Jim leaned down to kiss Ben and tuck him in. “Maybe tomorrow the pigs will get eaten!” This elicited another round of giggles from Ben. “Goodnight Son, I love you.”

            “Goodnight daddy. I love you!” 

            Pam knew all kids loved to scribble with crayons, and that Sophie’s love of it didn’t mean she would grow up to be an artist. But she still encouraged Sophie to draw at every opportunity, hoping to foster the creative gene.

            “Mommy, mommy! I drawed you something!” Sophie came rushing into the room, and promptly climbed on Pam’s lap.

            “Oooh, let’s see,” Pam examined the drawing. Jim had jokingly said that their daughter had a future in abstract art, and this drawing certainly fit the bill. She thought she saw a face somewhere in the mess, and, hoping it was a person, asked, “And who is this?”

            “It’s you!” Sophie said, happy that her mother had guessed correctly. “See, dere’s your face, and hands, and legs.” She pointed out each part of the drawing as she named it – Pam’s three hands with 18 fingers each, legs that stretched the entire length of the paper, and purple hair.

            “And what’s this?” Pam pointed to the scribbles above her hair.

            “Dat’s your crown!” Sophie said, as if this should have been obvious. “Cause you’re a princess!”

            Jim was never a fan of homework. When he finished college, he’d vowed to never do homework again.  But now he had kids, and homework was again a nightly occurrence. Although both of them were still young, Jim dreaded the day when he got too stupid for his children’s homework because he didn’t remember the steps of meiosis or how to find the tangent of a slope.

            “Oh, sweetie, let’s count this one again. 1…2…” Jim said, pointing out the circles with his pencil.

            “3…4…5…6!” Sophie followed. “There’s 6 of them!”

            “Good job!” Jim let his mind wander as his daughter worked on the next set of counting problems. Pam had gotten stuck helping Ben today, settling him down enough to get homework done was a nightly chore.

            “Daddy, what’s six plus four?”

            “Ten,” he answered automatically, immediately regretting the opportunity to make her count it out. “See, let’s count it,” he recovered. “1…2…3,” he started counting the lady bugs on her page.

            “Wow daddy, you’re so smart,” Sophie said in wonder. “What’s….” she paused, trying to think of the biggest numbers she knew. “57 plus 12?”

            Jim did the math quickly in his head, “69.”

            “Daddy, you’re a genius!” Sophie said in awe.

            Pam was big on hugging. Not in a weird way, but she did believe in hugging friends and family when they arrived, and always gave her kids a goodnight hug.

            “Mom?” Ben said, appearing in the doorway one afternoon while Pam was making dinner. “I’ve been thinking.”

            Pam turned around, noting the serious tone in her son’s voice. “What’s up?”

            “Well, I’m fifteen now, and…” he paused, trying to figure out how to continue. “Maybe I don’t need goodnight hugs anymore.”

            “Oh…” Pam said, surprised. “Okay. No more goodnight hugs, I guess.” Pam couldn’t help but be hurt by this. He’d long ago put an end to kisses, but the simple goodnight hug she’d never thought would be the next victim of the teenage years.

            That night, as son went upstairs to go get ready for bed, Pam stayed downstairs, feeling an odd sense of loss of the hug. She fought through it, calling up “Good night,” and settling back to watch the television.

            Fifteen minutes later, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and turned to look. Ben was there, looking sheepishly at her. “I guess one more hug wouldn’t hurt.”

            Pam was up in an instant, wrapping her arms around him. “Goodnight my sweet boy.”

            “Mom!” Ben said, rolling his eyes. But he still wrapped his arms around her a little tighter before letting go.

            Jim was sick very rarely, but when he got sick, he got sick… and he turned into a total baby, Pam had learned. Now that the kids had started daycare, they were constantly bringing home germs and viruses, and being sick seemed like a daily occurrence.

            Pam had decided that when you get pregnant, your immune system instantly gets stronger. That was the only reason she could think of that Ben, Sophie, and Jim could all be felled by a simple cold, while she was still healthy.

            Ben and Sophie were basically healthy, and were running around, arguing, just like normal. But Jim, the latest casualty, was stuck up in bed, dizzy, lightheaded, and coughing up a storm. Pam dosed him up on medicine as much as she could, and just tried to keep him comfortable, but with the kids underfoot, he was the least of her worries.

            “Hey, guys…” Pam called out into the backyard. “How about we do something special for daddy?”

            Hours later, when Sophie was taking a nap, Pam snuck into the bedroom, thankful that Jim seemed to be asleep also. On their nightstand, she laid out the presents – a macaroni necklace from Sophie, a get well card from Ben, and a box Kleenex – encased in green jello.