A Ducky Dilemma

I padded my way through the kitchen, yawning and scratching my head.  I put my hands in the pockets of my bathrobe and shrugged my shoulders, feeling the coldness of the early morning seeping through my nightclothes.  Half-awake, my body went on autopilot:  taking down my favorite mug from the cupboard and pouring a cup of hot, black coffee that my wife always made sure was set and ready to go for me in the morning.  I was always the earliest riser in the house, even on the weekends.

I stood at the kitchen sink, sipping my cup of joe, moaning as the bitter taste tantalized my taste buds.  My eyes began to gradually focus on the view out the kitchen window into our backyard.  As I began to process what I was seeing, I set my still-full mug down on the counter and leaned on the sink with both hands to get a closer view out the window.

Oh, she did not!!!

I stomped out of the kitchen and made my way back upstairs to the master bedroom, not caring if my loud footsteps woke up any of our three young children.  Chances are, they were accomplices in obtaining the awful vision now decorating our backyard!

I moved noisily into my bedroom and rounded the bed to stand in front of my wife's still-slumbering form.  I glared down at her with my arms crossed over my chest.

“Chelsea!” I growled.

She merely gave a “hmm?” and snuggled deeper into the warm covers.

I leaned down closer to her ear and said a little louder, “Chelsea!”

Yawning, she slowly opened her eyes.  She gave a small smile at first, but it quickly faded when she saw the stern look I was giving her.

“What is it, Lance?” she asked in her husky, morning voice.

“I thought we had discussed it, and that we agreed to not have anything in our lawn this year!”

“What?”

She put a hand to her mouth to cover another big yawn and looked up at me blearily again.

Angrily, I grabbed her by the shoulders and brought her to a sitting position.

I stalked over to the window that overlooked the backyard and turned around to glare at her again, my arm stretched out to point out the window.

“Can you tell my why those things are in my backyard—in November, no less?”

To her credit, Chelsea looked contrite as she slowly stood up and walked over to me.

“Now, Lance, I know we agreed to not get anything new to decorate the yard for Christmas this year, but the boys saw them, and I just couldn't say no!”

“Well, they're going to have to learn the hard way that they can't get everything they want!  I'm going to take those things back to the store today, and that's final!”

“Fine.  Then, you can tell the boys that when they ask you about them.”

She crossed her arms over her daintily clad bosom, drawing my attention to its delicious fullness.  I narrowed my eyes at her.  She knew how to manipulate me well, but not this time.  When she realized I wasn't going to bend, she dropped her arms and sighed.

“Look, Sweetheart,” she said softly, “you were already in bed when we got home last night, and all four of us helped set them up as a surprise for you.  Jimmy was so excited at the thought of all of us together gifting it to you.”

That statement reached through my irritation.  Much as I tried to deny it, our youngest son, two-year-old Jimmy, had me wrapped around his little finger, and the thought of him specifically wanting to give me the present in the backyard made me soften quite a bit.

I looked back out the window at the blow-up monstrosities lined up in a row, dressed up in hats and scarves, holding music as if caroling.  I then realized something I hadn't seen the first time.  Instead of the labels of Huey, Dewey, and Louie on the bellies of the three middle Disney ducks, my boys had used some sort of paint or magic marker (surely with my wife's help) and put their own names on the three ducks:  Chris, Mark, and Jimmy.  The taller blow-up figures of Donald and Daisy bookended the triplets, with labels of Lance and Chelsea on their bellies, as well.

I sighed and stood at the window another long moment, struggling between being utterly frustrated...and utterly touched.  Eventually, I turned toward my wife and held out my arms to her.  She smiled and willingly snuggled into my arms.

She kissed me on the cheek and said, “You're a good dad, Lance.  Thank you!”

I managed to smile back and gave a slight shrug.  “Oh, well," I sighed again.  "Maybe they won't look so bad when we finally have some snow on the ground!”