The picnic idea / Fortress

He got back from the coffee shop around 2 o-clock to find his wife laying on the couch and the baby asleep in the crib.

"Has she been sleeping for very long?"

"No."

It wasn't hard to gather that there was more to that 'No'. Within that single word festered many levels of frustration. It was a, 'No, the baby hasn't been sleeping' and a 'No, I haven't left this cramped apartment in three straight days' as well as a 'No, I didn't get to spend 2 1/2 hours at a coffee shop' not to mention a 'No, we don't have anything in the fridge that sounds good for dinner.'
What followed was an extended and uncomfortable moment of silence. A voice in the back of his head, the voice of a husband and father perhaps, mentioned that now was his turn to say something. Something good.

"Umm. It's really nice outside. You want to go to the park and hang out for a few hours?"

"Sure."

Three minutes later he had packed sandwiches, fruit, crackers, wine, dog bowl, leash, diaper bag, bottle, baby blanket, and mr. jingles.
Twenty minutes after that they were sitting in the shade, watching the baby coo at the swaying branches overhead and the dog chase squirrels. They spoke of the future with a satisfying air of confidence.
They would move to a bigger place.

They would watch less television and spend more time outdoors.
Their daughter would not grow up to be goth.
Their dog would never catch a squirrel.

They would try to coordinate their evenings taking care of the baby so that they both had time to exercise.
And finally, since they were eating a substantial snack so late in the afternoon, they'd alter their dinner plans from steak fajitas to something simpler and less filling - perhaps cereal. Yes, cereal.

There.
For the first time in several months their lives felt neat and in order. Things were settled.

A few hours later they headed home.

He made pancakes for dinner.