Tuesday night is run-around night

Tuesday night has been, since October, the earlier of Ottawacker Jr.'s soccer practices. I pick him up from school at 3.40; bring him home; gently encourage him to unpack his school bag and put his lunch containers in the dishwasher; fend off the inevitable arguments about 'can I play on xBox'; prepare him a quick-but-nutritous dinner; read him something more literary than Big Nate Farts During Science Class (at the moment, we are working on Journey to the Centre of the Earth); encourage him gently to get his kit ready for practice; encourage him more loudly to get his kit ready for practice; wait until 5.35, when we have to leave the building, and encourage him volubly to get his kit ready for practice; drive him to practice; drive home; sit for 30 minutes with Mrs. Ottawacker then drive back to pick him up from practice again; drive him home; prepare a snack while he showers; sit down en famille and either play a board game or, increasingly, watch something together (currently Around the World in 80 Days); argue for 15 minutes about why he has to go to bed, on a school night, at 8.30pm; fall asleep.

Somewhere, in the middle of all that, I stopped and noticed the absolute tranquil perfection of my street, at dusk, on a winter's night.