A few minutes after Mariah left for work, my mom reminded me that I had an appointment to switch our car’s registration from Colorado to Alaska. I’d promised Levi that he could take his new wagon out, a nice stake-side with fat knobby tires that the neighbor had given him the day before. He reminded me, saying, “I’ll stay on da side of da woad.” Hard to say no to that. Then I realized I had to get Mariah’s signature on the registration change form. Might need to leave the kids with my folks, or at least take the car, since I now had to stop by the school where Mariah worked, then go to the registration office, then the post office to mail a check. Or I could take the kids in the wagon to do all of it, since this was Petersburg.
Mariah clocked her walk to work at 8 minutes. It would be about the same to my appointment, or twice that doubling back from the school. With an hour to kill, we could take the nature trails and still make it in time.
As we loaded up to leave, I told Tephra to get in the wagon. My mom asked, “Are you sure that’s good idea?”
I clenched my jaw.
“Nevermind,” she said.
Levi took Randy’s leash, I took the wagon, and my mom took up the rear as we headed out of the driveway and rain started speckling the dirt road. I had thought I might leave the kids and dog with my mom at the covered playground next to the school, but when we got there there an escalator and dumptruck growled and banged a stone’s show away. So we kept going to the district office, where Mariah sat in a meeting. Rounding the building I saw a cartoon on the screen of the conference room. Some professional development. In front I texted Mariah, “Here,” like she’d instructed. Outside in seconds, she rolled her eyes about the cartoon and added her autograph to the bottom of the form.
And I pulled the wagon on, the kids both nested in it toboggan-style, taking the trail this time. The cross country team passed going the other way down the trail, including the neighbor girl who had previously owned the wagon, using it to haul baked goods downtown to sell while wearing her traditional Norwegian bunad.
We made it 9 minutes before 9 am. They offered three choices of new license plates for free to replace the dented set I’d had on my first two pickup trucks. I got the one with northern lights and a full moon over mountains. It reads, “ALASKA ARTISTIC LICENSE.” But they only take cash or check, so I had to go back home. My mom had been watching the kids and dog behind the building so I walked home with them, got my checkbook, and left them to quickly walk back. I got the plates, then walked three minutes to the post office.
After dropping my check in the local slot, a friends mom hollered from across the parking lot, who was excited to see we were back in town. We chatted for almost ten minutes, long enough for another friend to walk by and shake hands.
Stopping at the grocery store for milk, half and half, cereal, peanut butter, apples and carrots, I bought just the right amount to carry half a mile to my parents’ house.
There the kids sat hazy-eyed watching Elmo with Grandma. So I started a load of diapers. Levi bounced back and wanted to go outside and help me put the new license plates on, which we did, in only about twice the time it would have taken me alone. Next he drove his trike into the tall grass and claimed to be hiding, I suspected he had to poop. I started making phone calls about pre school, not without a breeze of guilt. Three places were full, and I’m relieved, and I’m guilty about being relieved. As a stay-at-home-dad, I think about getting a real job nearly every day. But I haven’t in almost four years. This isn’t so bad.
At my appointment, the person at the next window filled out the form to register their boat trailer. The dad of a friend, someone else I’ve run into by chance and chatted with twice in a week, told me his dad trolled by oar in the narrows. Maybe I’ll get a little boat to take the kids out in.
A few days later we moved across town to the house we’re renting for the winter. Most of our stuff made it the first day in two carloads and a wagonload.