I’m pushing a black dress through the changing room door.
“See, I told you to always shop with a poof.”
Dawn grabs the hanger. “Thanks. Perhaps I always did.”
I laugh as I pull up the zipper and jiggle her around in the dress.
“See! Much better, now stop staring at the bits you hate and remember people look at the whole. Oh God, woman, put your arms down!”
I exit the change room to the patient mini men.
Later, dressed and ready to go, Dawn kisses the men goodbye and I’ve got the boys ready to tease her about not kissing anyone ugly.
The boys and I ate dinner at the kitchen bench Saturday night like three strangers in our own thoughts. There were no explanations required about where Dawn was and possibly I couldn’t fit them into a trilogy of columns if I had to.
I thought about a few weeks earlier when Dawn told me she had a blind date deal for an upcoming party. I reminisced about my first relationship outside of the marriage and offered some love advice.
“You know, if it goes well and continues, just know that it’s hard. It’s hard because you want to spend more time with the new person, and it’s hard, as much as you love your sons, that you can’t involve them all straightaway. It feels like you’re missing out on something, especially when it’s new — trust me, I know.”
Cuddled up on the lounge watching a movie, the boys and I did what any normal boys do when the mum’s away — laughed at fart jokes, got the shits with the telly because an episode of Family Guy wouldn’t play and ate chip crumbs off our PJs.
I stocktake the day. Which parts are normal and which aren’t? Dressing Dawn up, children teasing a parent about kissing someone else, it was a growing list.
What is this thing called ‘normal’? I have no idea if it even exists.
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