Every Story Has More Than One Beginning

"Tell Mommy what happened," said the man I married to the son I bore.
Every mother knows that walking through the door after a long day to a greeting like that does not make you angry at your child--it makes you want to beat his father, because really, there is no good follow up to "tell Mommy what happened". And this is when it hit me--every story has more than one beginning. You see, my story starts at that loaded statement, while my husband's story ends there.

Jack explained that he was simply playing kickball on the porch and had the best kick of his six-year-old life. "At least it would have been the best kick of my life if that window wasn't there, but now that it's broken I can really get my kick on." I walked to the porch and sure enough--a window facing our driveway had a gaping jagged hole in it. Now, I'll assume that the break was at least an hour old, and yet there were pieces of glass near the break and the hole was uncovered.

Trying not to sound flip (don't sound flip, don't sound flip, don't sound flip...) I asked my husband, "I'm assuming that's our new drive thru window? Just so I know what to give out, are we Starbucks or Citibank?" That was two hours ago and still the hole has not been covered and there's been no discussion about glass replacement. Why? Because his story ended and my story is just beginning so I might as well get flip with a phone book and start looking under "Glass Replacement".