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Then stopped.

Cookies.

“Fuck.”

SAMANTHA

“Mommy, when is Uncle Levin coming?”

I looked up from the basket of clothes I was folding.

“Michael, if you ask me that one more time, I’m locking you outside.”

His little eyes got big.

“You can’t lock kids outside.”

“Watch me.”

“I’m telling Grandma.”

“Call her.”

He stared at me for a second before running toward the back door.

“Zion! Mommy said she putting me outside!”

“I didn’t say putting! I said locking!”

Shit.

That didn’t sound any better.

“Sam!”

Nesha screamed laughing from my kitchen.

“You threatening these damn kids again?”

“I am parenting.”

“You are threatening.”

“Same thing.”

I laughed, tossing another little shirt into the pile.

The sliding door was open, letting the warm summer air into the living room.

Outside, Zion and Amari were in the little backyard arguing over whose turn it was with the water hose.

Why they needed a water hose, I didn’t know.

There wasn’t shit back there but grass, two patio chairs and a little plastic basketball hoop.

But apparently eight and six-year-olds could turn anything into an activity.

Serenity was on the floor in front of me, rocking back and forth on her hands and knees like she’d been threatening to crawl for the last two weeks.