Page 2 of One Hot Daddy

I slop eggs into a pan."Socks, Henry.Now.You're eight years old, for pity's sake.By your age, I was mending sheep fences in the Outback."

None of my children have seen the Outback, and neither have I.Most of my brood hasn't been past Wisconsin.Doesn't matter.I need them to believe I am invincible and all-knowing.

In the living room, cheerful voices emerge from the telly.Ah, yes, my favorite children's programs are on.Amelia is already there on the sofa.She's rarely anywhere else before noon.Wrapped in a blanket, she doomscrolls through her phone with one hand while the other is wrapped around a mug she's definitely not supposed to have.

"Amelia!"I holler."Is that coffee you're drinking?"

She pulls the mug tighter."It's milk with a splash of coffee.I'm hydrating."

"Hydrating is water, love, not caffeine."

She snorts."Hydrating is a state of mind."

"No coffee, Amelia.And please put on your school clothes."

Joshua slouches in the armchair, all elbows and attitude, a hoodie pulled over half of his face.He grabs the milk, chugs from the carton, and ignores the glass two inches from his hand.

"Josh, c'mon, mate," I groan."Let's not behave like barbarians."

He shrugs, with no apologies, and sets the carton down with a thunk."Grandma says you're supposed to use a glass, but she's not here."

"Grandma" is Florence Murgatroyd, my mother, the one-woman Queen's Guard of domestic order.She and Dad are on vacation---their first in years---leaving me alone to parent my brood for a full week.It's been a test I did not sign up for, but one I intend to survive.Fortunately, my mother-in-law, Patricia, checks in every day.Never know, I might have legged it back to England in the middle of the night.

The eggs are ready at last.I scoop them onto plates, tossing two slices of toast onto each, and herd the kids into chairs at the bar.Amelia doesn't move, but the others stampede.Henry still has no socks, but I'll deal with that once everyone has eaten.

I slide plates across the table."Eat.Fast.The bus comes in fifteen minutes."

Charlotte takes her plate and resumes dribbling the soccer ball under the table.Josh, for a second, looks like he might say the dreaded words "thank you," then decides against it.He devours half his breakfast in a single bite.

Henry pokes his eggs."Are these free-range?"

"They're free."I lean toward my son."Eat them, or you'll be foraging for acorns at recess."

He snickers, then shovels in a forkful."Did you ever have to eat acorns, Dad?"

"Don't speak while eating."

My son gives me his favorite expression---eye roll plus long-suffering sigh."Well, did you eat acorns?"

"Once.I was lost in the Tasmanian bush for a week.Survived on possum jerky and eucalyptus bark."

Charlotte's eyes get big."You're making that up."

"Does it matter if I am?"Tall tales keep me grounded, oddly, and the children love them.

The morning rolls on.After breakfast, I order Henry to find a pair of shoes---and put them on.He drops to his knees behind the bar and emerges again with a pair of well-worn sneakers.They're semi-flattened and apparently were wedged under the radiator.Oh yes, they're also crusted with a mystery substance.I wipe it off it off the best I can.Then I return to the kitchen to find Charlotte and Joshua arguing over who gets the last clean fork, while Amelia barely notices the mayhem.

By the time everyone's fed, dressed, and mostly tooth-brushed, the kitchen looks like a scene from a natural disaster documentary.I step over backpacks, check the clock, and realize the bus is early.

I freeze for a split second.Then: "Shoes!Backpacks!Let's go, let's go, people!"

As I move the herd toward the front door, Henry trips over his own feet but recovers.Charlotte tries to sneak her soccer ball into her backpack.I intercept it, and my daughter seems slightly impressed."It's not regulation size, pet.Leave it here."

She glares at me for two to three seconds, by my count, then abandons the ball on the stairs as she sprints for the door.

Amelia drags behind."The bus isn't even here yet."

"Yeah, it is," Josh says, peeking through the curtains."It's right outside.And the driver looks angry."