7. Sean

7

Sean

As the sound of Luke's crying fills the room, I find myself in uncharted territory. Kids, especially their tears, are about as foreign to me as a quiet night in. But seeing Luke like this, knowing he's mine, it does something to me—kind of like a slapshot to the gut.

Emma tries to explain. "Nothing happened. He's just upset about leaving the cows," she says, her voice soothing, though Luke's tears show no sign of stopping.

Then there's Aubrey, moving with a mother's grace, scooping up Luke with all the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times. Watching her comfort him, something stirs in me—a mix of admiration and a twinge of something else, something new.

But me, being me, I can't help but throw in my two cents. "Aren't we babying him a bit?" I comment, unable to resist the urge to poke the bear, even in a moment like this.

Aubrey shoots me a look that could freeze boiling water. "He's two, Sean. What do you expect, a handshake and a 'better luck next time'?"

Her sarcasm hits its mark, and I can't help but chuckle, despite the situation.

Luke, still nestled in Aubrey's arms, seems to be calming down, his sobs turning into sniffles. I watch them, this little family scene, and it's like I'm seeing everything in a new light.

As I watch Aubrey go into full-on comfort mode with Luke, something in me bristles. It's like watching a foreign film without subtitles—I just don't get it. In the Ice household, we were all about the 'tough it out' mentality. You fall? You get back up. You're upset? Figure out why and fix it. This whole coddling business? It's like we're speaking different languages.

"He's a boy, Aubrey, not a porcelain doll," I can't help but remark, irritation coloring my tone. "You're coddling him."

She whirls on me, Luke still nestled against her, and the look she shoots me could stop a charging bull in its tracks. "Sean, for your information, Luke has been up since the crack of dawn. We've been on the move, he's tired, overwhelmed, and yes, crying. It's normal for a toddler, especially today."

Her words are like a slap of reality across my face, but I'm already too far down my path to easily back down. "But—"

"No," she cuts in, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "I'm not going to punish my son for having emotions or for trying to adjust to a whole new world in one day."

Then, she lands a knockout blow, the kind that makes you see stars. "Maybe if you had been raised with a bit more understanding and less of the 'tough love,' you wouldn't be in a position where you need to hire someone to clean up your messes."

Ouch. That one hits home, a reminder that my approach to... well, everything, might not be as foolproof as I thought. Aubrey's standing there, a mix of maternal fierceness and undeniable logic, and I'm suddenly the one feeling like a kid who's just been told to go think about what he's done.

The air between us is charged, a battlefield where old-school toughness meets modern parenting, and I'm on the losing side. It's a humbling moment, one that forces me to reassess not just my take on parenting but on how I handle all my challenges.

As Aubrey turns her attention back to soothing Luke, I'm left to stew in my own thoughts. She's right. My 'figure it out the hard way' upbringing might have made me resilient, but it's also left me with a suitcase full of issues I'm still unpacking. And here I am, ready to pass on that same legacy to Luke without a second thought.

Storming out of the room, frustration bubbling up like a poorly tapped keg, I find myself navigating the maze of the ranch with no particular destination in mind. Aubrey's words ring in my ears, a symphony of truths I'm not quite ready to dance to. It's one thing to face off against a team on the ice, quite another to navigate the emotional minefield of sudden fatherhood and clashing parenting philosophies.

As I round the corner, still mentally replaying the scene, I nearly barrel into the one person who's seen me at my best and worst—my dad. His presence, usually as comforting as a well-worn glove, now feels like a spotlight on my current state of internal chaos.

"Whoa there, kid,” he starts, concern etching his features. “You look like you’ve just gone ten rounds. What’s eating you?”

And just like that, the floodgates open. Word vomit, the kind that spares no detail, erupts.

"Pops, you're not going to believe this. I've got a kid, a little boy with Aubrey, the woman from the Airbnb. And man, she's driving me up the wall. She's... she's babying him, coddling him like he's made of glass. I don't get it. We never did any of that soft stuff growing up."

Pops’s reaction is a masterclass in composure—initially. But at the mention of a grandson, his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, a mix of shock and concern washing over his features. "A kid? You're telling me I'm a granddad?" The words seem to hang between us, heavier than a sudden snowfall.

"Yeah, a little boy. But that's not all. Aubrey's driving me up a wall with her parenting. It's like she's speaking a different language—one where 'no' and 'toughen up' don't exist."

Dad takes a moment, the news settling on him like dew on morning grass. Then, leaning against the fence, the very picture of a man reassessing his day's expectations, he offers up his two cents. "Sean," he begins, his voice a touch more serious, "this is...a lot to take in. A grandson. But you and Aubrey, you've got to find some common ground. Different doesn't mean wrong. It's about finding a balance, especially now."

His words, meant to soothe, only serve to highlight how out of my depth I really am. "But how am I supposed to deal with this? I know jack about kids, and her style is just... it's like we're speaking different languages."

Pops chuckles, a sound that usually signals some impending, homespun wisdom. "Son, becoming a parent is like being thrown into a game with no playbook. You learn as you go. And as for Aubrey, maybe it's time to learn her language instead of expecting her to speak yours."

There's a simplicity to his advice that's both infuriating and enlightening. As I stand there, grappling with the enormity of the situation, I realize that maybe, just maybe, Pops is right. Aubrey's world, her methods—they're not an affront to mine; they're just different.

Then he hits me with a reality check wrapped in a bit of dad wisdom. "You know, I've only caught Aubrey in the mom act for a hot minute," he says, squinting into the distance as if he might find the secrets of the universe—or at least parenting—out there. "But she's got the mom gig down pretty solid from what I've seen."

He gives me a moment to digest that, then lands another one. "Look, just because her playbook doesn’t match ours doesn’t mean it’s the wrong game. And let’s be honest," he adds, chuckling, "I'm not exactly the gold standard of parenting. I made up half of it as I went along."

Hearing Pops throw a bit of self-deprecation into the mix is like finding out your childhood superhero wears polka-dot underwear—unexpected but oddly grounding. "So, you're saying I shouldn't expect a 'Parent of the Year' mug anytime soon either?" I quip, trying to lighten the mood.

"Exactly," he nods, missing my attempt at humor, or choosing to, which is even more likely. "You're navigating uncharted waters, kiddo. Aubrey's style—it's just different, not wrong. You'll figure it out."

There I am, left standing as Pops ambles off, probably to dispense more sage advice to the corn or whatever. And me? I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that maybe, just maybe, Aubrey and her 'coddle now, ask questions later' approach isn’t the parenting apocalypse I thought it was.

Walking back, the gears in my head are turning—albeit reluctantly. The whole situation feels less like a disaster and more like one of those 'choose your own adventure' books where I've been picking the dramatic options for fun. Aubrey's way, Pops’s advice, it's all starting to blend into a less terrifying, more doable plan of action.

So, what’s the game plan now? Dive into this co-parenting gig headfirst, armed with nothing but good intentions and a newly minted respect for different parenting styles? Sounds about right. Because if there’s anything I've learned today, it's that being a dad is about rolling with the punches—and maybe even learning how to throw a few soft ones for Luke’s sake.