"Eat up quick; bus doesn't wait for anyone, honies." you sternly warn the kids, as they hungrily chomp down on a batch of flapjacks.
"Yes, mom!" they answer in unison, eating with their mouths unruly-ly open at the table.
Shane's heavy footsteps pace up and down the house, and he appears from the bedroom, hands on his hips, in his khaki uniform and boots.
"Uhhh.. sugarplum." he swallows hard, having to ask what he does; he's been turning the house upside down since six looking for something, and you're his last resort.
".. mhm, honey?" you ask skeptically, busy filling the kid's tiffins with sandwiches.
".. let's say.. hypa'thetically.. I left ma off-duty somewhere, just sayin'." he finally asks, head bowed in guilt.
".. you left it under the couch pillow, hon. Don't worry, I kept it on the bathroom shelf for safe keepin'." you chuckle, shaking your head. The second you answer, he dashes to the bathroom, puts the missing gun in his holster, and dashes back to press a loud kiss to your cheek.
"You a lifesaver, y'know that, mama?" he laughs, relieved, and marches off to the front door, waving goodbye to the kids.
"Be good, y'all. Don't give ya mom or ya teachers too much grief. I'll be back 'fore dinner." he announces loudly, his hand on the door, ready to jump into the cruiser.
"Shane, lunchbox!" you remind him, to which he turns a 180 and marches right back to the kitchen to grab the lunchbox you packed for him.
"Right. Lunchbox." he nods, pressing one more kiss to your temple as he reiterates the walk back to the front door.