Zero Sugar, Zero Joy

Baseball day

It was too hot for it to be only June.

You weren't even close to your annual leave, and the kids' upcoming summer break felt like a distant dream: a lucid, beautiful daydream made of white sand, a swimsuit, and absolutely no vomit or spit-up on your shoulder.

Rin had also started using the potty, and maybe you'd finally catch a break and breathe in a different, less smelly life by August. Your firstborn, thanks to your strict guidance, had become fully independent in three months; your daughter would be no different.

The only real hurdle with Rin was weaning her off the breast, but you knew damn well whose fault that was in this specific case.

You rolled your eyes at the thought, glancing at the two kids in the back seats of your car to check on them. You flashed a faint smile and focused back on the road, flicking on your blinker and turning right as you reached the sports complex, soaking in the last few moments of the car's air conditioning.

"Mom! Mom! Is Koran already here?" the boy in the back asked, happily stamping his feet up and down against the seat, buzzing with excitement for the game. You quickly scanned the parking lot as you looked for a spot to park, immediately spotting Koran's parents' red car.

"Mh-mh," you hummed, and Shinya clapped his hands in delight, making Rin laugh too by sheer proximity to his joy. Part of you hoped his good mood would help stop his sister from throwing another tantrum.

You wiped a stray lock of hair from your forehead, your fingers trembling slightly from a cocktail of exhaustion and irritation at the heat already radiating from the asphalt.

The mere thought of spending three hours out there holding a two-year-old on your hip made you shudder.

In the back seat, Shinya was already practically vibrating with adrenaline, his pristine baseball uniform a stark contrast to his wild, ash-blonde hair, a genetic inheritance you routinely cursed.

"Mom! Mom! Coach said if we win this game, we're in the regional finals! Can I lead off? Did you pack my lucky bat?" Shinya's voice was deafening in the enclosed space of the car, endlessly repeating things you already knew inside out because you'd heard them first from the coach, then from the other moms, then from your son, and, on rare occasions, from your ex-partner whenever he deigned to drop him off at practice when you were stuck at work.

"Yes, Shinya, it's in the trunk. Just wait until I get your sister out," you replied calmly, trying not to let your irritation show as you maneuvered between two cars and pulled the handbrake.

You got out, huffing loudly at the sudden wave of heat, fanning yourself with your hand. You opened the rear door to unbuckle Rin from her car seat, casting a quick look over your shoulder to make sure your eldest didn't bolt. He was actually behaving and listening to you, despite his impatience to break free, so you flashed him a small smile before dealing with his sister.

"Alright, sweetheart, let's get you out of this harness..." you murmured, hoping she was back in a good mood.
But two-year-old Rin had other plans. Her tiny fists flew, striking your collarbone as she kicked her legs out with terrifying force.
"No! No car! Want it! Daddy said! Daddy said today!" Rin screamed, her face flushing a deep, angry crimson, tears pooling in her large, expressive eyes as she tried to flail and fight her way out of leaving the car. "No! No! Toy store! Toys!" she wailed, making her brother grimace at you.

"Mom..."
"I know, sweetie..." you sighed, finally managing to unbuckle the toddler, already bone-deep tired. "Rin, stop it. We are at Shinya's game. You need to calm down right now," you muttered, gripping her by the waist and pulling her against your hip. She immediately twisted, burying her face into your neck while simultaneously yanking a fistful of your hair with a strength that defied her age. You winced, refusing to let the pain break your composed exterior, because you always told yourself that kids calm down faster if they don't pick up on their parents' stress. Still, you were convinced her tantrums and god-awful temper were pure genetics.