Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) Read Free

she said with a huge smile.  She handed over a
preposterous, frilly pink diaper bag and I slung it over my shoulder, then she
blew us a kiss from the door and waved.
    And my weekend had begun.

Chapter 2
    If I believed in omens, I would have said that the weekend was
doomed to failure from the get-go.  It started as soon as we got to the boys’
preschool.  I unbuckled Morgan from her car seat – which is no small feat – and
we made our way to Max’s classroom.  I’d only been to the school a couple of
times and it took me a while to find the right room, but when we did, I got a
warm reception from Max. He came running up and threw his arms around my legs.
    “Daddy!” he yelled enthusiastically.
    “Hey Max!  How’s my boy?  Did you have a fun day with your
friends?” I asked, rumpling his hair.
    He made some noise to his friends which must have been a coded
message, because suddenly I was surrounded by a pack of grubby 2-year-olds. 
They were all trying to touch me, grabbing at me and pulling on my pant legs. 
They had Cheeto fingers and applesauce faces, and one had some florescent blue
crap all over his face and shirt.  I was horrified. 
    “Whoa!” I said, stepping backward onto someone’s backpack. 
    Thankfully, one of the teachers called them off.  If ever there
was such a thing as cooties, these kids had them in spades. 
    “Daddy look,” Max said, and he held up a tiny cement mixer.
    “That’s cool, Max,” I said absently.  I was trying to gather
his things as quickly as I could so we could escape before the mob returned.  I
handed Max his lunch box and grabbed a stack of artwork and his backpack.  We
thanked the teachers and I made a beeline for the door.  Three steps out the
door, I realized that Max had absconded with the cement truck. 
    “Oh.  You can’t take that with you, Max.  That belongs to the
school.”  I tried to take it out of his hand, but he had a grip of steel.
    “Mine!” he said defiantly, clutching it to his chest.
    “No, it’s not yours.  You need to take that back to the classroom. 
Now, come on.  Let’s go.”  I turned back to his room, but Max ran the opposite
direction.  “Max!” I said, trying to put some authority into my voice without
raising it.  “Get over here, right now.”
    “Mine!” he yelled adamantly.  He came closer, but he was
clutching the toy so tightly that his knuckles were white.
    “No.  It’s not yours, Max.  But you can play with it again when
you come back on Monday.” 
    “No!”
    “Let’s go talk to your teacher about it,” I suggested, and
surprisingly, he was completely agreeable.  He willingly followed me back to
the room.  I opened the door, hoping not to draw the attention of the dirty mob
again.  The teacher looked up in surprise.
    “Max walked out with this toy, and he’s very adamant about not
returning it,” I said, hoping that she’d know the magic words to get him to
release his grip.
    The teacher looked at Max and then at me.  “He came in with
that this morning.”
    I got this sinking feeling and I looked down at Max, who was
nodding his head vigorously.
    “That’s yours?”
    Nod. 
    “Where’d you get it?”
    “Tore.”
    “At the store?”
    Nod.
    “This morning?”
    Nod. 
    “Sorry, Max.  I didn’t know it was yours.”
    “Mean Daddy.”
    We left Max’s classroom and went upstairs to get Oliver.  “Look
what I have!” he said, holding up the identical toy.
    “Mom got you those this morning?”
    “Yeah.”  He looked thoughtful for a second then he asked, “What’s
a wiener?”
    “A wiener ?” What were they teaching him at that school? 
“A wiener is a hot dog,” I said, but he didn’t look convinced.
    “Mean Daddy,” Max said.
    Oliver laughed.  “Max said you’re mean.”
     
    That was how the weekend started, and from there it only got
worse.  It took an eternity to get the three kids strapped into their car
seats, and we’d barely made it two blocks