You Stayed With Us

Four Isn't Enough

Jennie's POV

There are only few days days left until Noah and Nathan's kindergarten graduation, which means we are officially in Mommy Full-Prep Mode. And by "we," I mean me. Because if I left this to Lisa, they'd probably walk up on stage in dinosaur clothes and call it fashion.

This morning started with my serious graduation talk at the breakfast table.

"We are going to look neat, clean, and presentable," I told them, my voice carrying the authority of someone who had already ironed two tiny button-down shirts before coffee. "Matching outfits. Pressed. Polished shoes. Hair combed. We're setting an example."

Across from me, Lisa was buttering toast like she was waiting for me to finish my TED Talk, and then—like she'd been saving it—she leaned back in her chair and dropped her own idea.

"Or... hear me out... sneakers with superhero socks."

Noah and Nathan froze mid-chew. Their eyes sparkled.

"Sneakers?" Noah asked, leaning forward.

"With Spider-Man socks?" Nathan added, already grinning.

Lisa nodded solemnly, like she was revealing the cure for boredom. "Exactly. It's called style, boys. You'll be the coolest graduates in the whole school."

I was about to shut this down when Ella, my supposed voice of reason, set her spoon down and said, "I mean... she's not wrong. Cool points matter, Mom."

Scarlett, from her booster seat, slammed her little hands on the table. "Cool! Cool!" she echoed, beaming at Lisa like she'd just been elected president of the household.

I blinked at all of them. "What is this? A coup?"

"No," Lisa said with a smirk, "it's democracy. Four against one."

I crossed my arms. "Well, lucky for you all, this is not a democracy. It's a Mommy-cracy."

The twins groaned dramatically. Lisa mouthed tyrant behind her toast. Scarlett immediately tried to copy the word, except it came out as, "Tie-ant," and then she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

By the time we finished debating, I managed to make a compromise—smart-looking button-down shirts and slacks... with sneakers. No superhero socks visible, though. (Lisa whispered to the twins that they could still wear them under their pants. I pretended not to hear, but I'm not new here.)

Later that afternoon, we started practicing the twins' thank-you speech. The teacher had emailed me their assigned lines:

"Thank you to our teachers for helping us learn and grow."

"Thank you to our families for always supporting us."

Simple. Sweet. Easy.

Except my children are genetically incapable of doing anything simple.

Nathan went first, but halfway through his line, he started using a deep monster voice. Noah, not to be outdone, added explosion sound effects between words.

"Thank—BOOM!—you to our teachers—KABOOM!—for helping us learn—PEW PEW!"

Lisa and Ella were doubled over on the couch, completely useless. Scarlett, not wanting to be left out, stood beside them and shouted, "BOOM! PEW PEW!" at random intervals, throwing her arms in the air like she was in an action movie.

I rubbed my temples. "Boys, focus. Say it normally. Imagine you're on stage. Proud. Grown-up."

Cooper, sensing that the living room was the center of excitement, began sprinting in circles around the twins. Noah tried to keep going, but halfway through his line, he stopped to scoop Cooper into a hug. Nathan followed, and suddenly we had a group wrestling match instead of speech practice.