Let's see...where do I start?
Craig stood and gave the kids their Pop Tarts. "Okay now, shoo!" he said, waving them away. Then he turned to Tamara, "For God's sake, what? Your lawn's not that bad, okay? Just a little thatchy. I can give you some of my fertilizer."
She shook her head and braced herself on the edge of the counter. "I don't give a crap about my lawn," she said. "That's Dave's thing."
She took a breath wiped tears from her cheeks. "It's the laundry. And the kids. The kids! And everything. It's such a fucking turnstile of drudgery."
"Tell me about it," Craig said, folding his arms and leaning against the counter next to her.
"No, it's different for you. You're a man. And you get paid. You have meetings. It's completely different."
Warm, morning air wafted through an open window.
One of the kids, Eli, she thought, called her. "Mommy! Mommy!"
She ignored him.
"Get a job then," Craig said.
"I can't get a job. Who would get the spots out of the dresses? The mildew out of the grout? The money out of the insurance companies!"
He said, "You'd hire someone. Or do it on weekends. You know, your lunch break. There are plenty of families with two working parents."
"I can't get a job!" she yelled and left the kitchen. She walked out the front door and into the yard. She sat on the ground, running her hands over the spiky, browning blades of grass. She thought she might curl up and sleep there. Lay through several nights and days. Swallow dew when she was thirsty, eat ladybugs if she got hungry.