The shitshow is Garrett, on Emmett’s back, shrieking bloody murder, his face buried in my husband’s hair. Carter, rolling around on the kitchen floor, attempting to shield his face while Ireland and Connor beat him with the oven mitts they wear, so big they’re all the way up to their shoulders. Jaxon, arms out in front of him, running through the living room in a hideous crocheted vest with his name and number on the back. What is he running from? A sparrow, in my fucking living room.
