molehills

"Leslie? Where did my yellow set of mitts go?"

Ben dried the last plate and put it in the cabinet. The timer was beeping with force and the heat from the open oven beaded his forehead with sweat. 

"April took them for her lobster costume."

Even from three feet away, Leslie's voice was barely audible over the abrupt shrieking from down the hall. 

"No, she took the red ones, I told her she could take the red ones."

The cabinet door fell closed with a muted bang and the triplets raced into the living room. 

"I don't know, maybe she's going to be a yellow lobster." 

Leslie scooped up her keys into her purse, but didn't move from her chair. 

"Who wants to hug me before I leave?" 

The kids rushed at her. She plucked a red oven mitt off of Sonia's head.

"Here's this. Somebody wanted to be a rooster."

She tossed it at Ben, who caught it gratefully. 

The boys tumbled over each other to take a place at the table but Sonia kept her arms firmly around her mother. 

"Please don't go, Mom. Dad said he's making calzones tonight."

Leslie knelt to her daughter's eye level. 

"You call me if he so much as looks at tomato sauce, okay? I promised you you wouldn't have to suffer any more calzones in this lifetime."

"Hey!"

She straightened and turned to her husband. 

"Don't feed my babies lame pizza wanna-be junk. I will know."

She pulled him closer and kissed him briefly. 

"Your breakfast smells like burning. I'll be back soon."