Sir Sausage II is sunning himself on his favorite patch of rug near the living room windows when we come in. Hearing the front door open, he rolls onto his back, stretches, gives a sleepy bark and a tail wag as a greeting, then yawns and closes his eyes.
Eva calls to him, “Daddy’s home! Come say hi!”
In response, we get another yawn.
“That animal is part sloth.” I shut the door with my foot, balancing a baby in each arm. Eva’s ahead of me with the stroller and the bulky diaper bag, a giant purse slung over her shoulder. She could be a Sherpa with the amount of stuff she hauls around.
“Are you hungry?” she calls over her shoulder, dropping the purse and diaper bag onto the long wood bench in the hallway. “I can make us some food.”
As she’s folding the stroller, I walk up behind her and
