Mia’s Chapter 8

The best part about having three children who can all walk, talk, and feed themselves is that I finally get to work on the rocket again. Real work. Not the “fix a loose panel while someone screams about applesauce” kind of work — actual, focused, scientific progress. Oliver’s a scientist too now, but that’s his problem to figure out. I’m not supervising him. I’m barely supervising myself. The kids are big enough to handle their own needs and social lives, which means I can disappear into the lab or the rocket bay without feeling like the house will collapse in my absence. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when no one is actively trying to eat a crayon.

Oliver decided to “help” with dinner on Saturday by preparing the banquet table, which would’ve been great if he hadn’t put out four plates of cookies next to the taco casserole. So of course the kids ate the cookies. All of them. The casserole didn’t stand a chance. I’m not even mad — that’s on Oliver. If you put dessert within arm’s reach of three children, you get what you get.

Ellie stayed up with me while I worked on the rocket. She sat at the art table with her crayons and violin and whatever else she could drag out of her inventory, and somewhere between my third panel adjustment and her fifteenth drawing, she completed her entire creative aspiration. Just checked it off like it was nothing. She picked Motor next, which feels right for a kid who refuses to walk anywhere when she can sprint.

The boys were the only ones awake Sunday morning, and they were actually getting along. No yelling, no tattling, no dramatic sighing — just quiet cooperation. I went to bed at six in the morning, and Ellie went to bed at three. Apple, meet tree. At least she didn’t try to help with the rocket. I don’t need a child with a violin giving me engineering advice at three a.m.

Sunday morning was a study in embarrassment, and none of it was mine for once. First, Oliver walked in on Ellie taking a bath. She shrieked, he panicked, and I pretended not to hear any of it because I was elbow‑deep in rocket parts. Just as Ellie was recovering from that humiliation, she walked in on Oliver and me woohooing. And then, because the universe has a sense of humor, Trace walked in on us as we were finishing up. Ellie was mortified. Trace looked like he’d just witnessed a shocking nature documentary.

I went back outside to work on the rocket upgrades leaving Oliver to clean up that mess. Ellie sat in the living room trying to process her embarrassment like it was a school assignment. Trace wandered off, completely unbothered.

Colton missed all of it. Every single moment. He went to the park next door sometime in the morning and stayed there until well past bedtime. No calls, no updates, just vibes. When he finally came home, he walked straight to bed without saying a word. I’m choosing to believe that means he had a good day.

The kids are getting along really well these days. Even Colton’s jealousy seems to be under control, which feels like a small miracle. They do their homework together, they talk to each other without anyone crying, and sometimes they even sit in the same room without starting a turf war.

Ellie has almost completed the motor aspiration.  She just needs to raise her motor skill a little more to get there.

I’ve been so deep into the rocket upgrades the last few days that I have no idea what’s been happening inside the house. I know the kids are alive because I’ve heard footsteps and occasional arguing, and Oliver hasn’t come outside to tell me anything is on fire, so I’m assuming everything is fine. They’re old enough to feed themselves and negotiate their own social hierarchies. I’m busy. The rocket isn’t going to upgrade itself, and the wormhole generator is still humming in a way that feels like a threat. Whatever happened in the house during that time… I’ll find out eventually. Probably.

The last few days have been a blur of metal, equations, and questionable decisions, and I’ve been so deep in rocket upgrades that I barely remembered other people lived in this house. Apparently a lot happened while I was elbow‑deep in circuitry, but I couldn’t tell you what. I’ve been busy.

In that time, I managed to rack up abduction number seven — which at this point feels less like an anomaly and more like a loyalty program — completed Nerd Brain, mastered both Rocket Science and Logic, added the wormhole generator to the rocket, got promoted to Pioneer of New Technologies, and even traveled to Sixam. Possibly my most productive week ever. I’m not sure if that says more about my career or my parenting.

Oliver got promoted too, which is great for him. The kids all brought home A’s, which is great for them. Ellie finished her second aspiration — Motor — and immediately picked Social like she was speed‑running childhood. I’m proud of all of them, in a distant, “good job, keep doing that” kind of way.

And then it was Colton’s birthday, and Oliver insisted I come up for air and be present. He actually stood in front of the rocket and waited until I put the wrench down. I guess that’s fair. It’s not every day your oldest becomes a teenager. Still, I was right in the middle of calibrating the wormhole stabilizer, and it’s hard to switch gears from interdimensional travel to birthday candles on command.

Colton aged up into a teenager and immediately picked up Jealous as his new trait. Of course he did. Honestly, I’m impressed he waited this long. He also chose Mansion Baron for his aspiration, which feels ambitious for someone who spent most of his childhood trying to keep Trace from hiding dishes behind furniture, but I respect the confidence.

Once the party was over — cake eaten, candles spit on, everyone clapping like we hadn’t all done this a dozen times — I went straight back to the rocket. I didn’t even change out of my party clothes. I’m so close to having it fully upgraded I can practically hear the wormhole stabilizer humming in anticipation. Oliver tried to say something about “taking a break,” but I was already halfway out the door. The rocket doesn’t care about birthdays. The rocket cares about progress.

I spent most of the weekend working on the last few rocket upgrades. At this point I can practically do them in my sleep, which is good, because I’m not entirely convinced I’ve slept recently. Trace mastered the Social skill somewhere in there. I only know because he came outside to tell me about it, and then immediately wandered off to talk to someone else. Good for him.

Colton, meanwhile, set the kitchen on fire before school. And himself. The fire alarm worked perfectly — loud enough to rattle the rocket panels — and the fire department showed up fast enough to put out both the stove and my son. Then they all left, and Colton still had to go to school, completely charred. I didn’t see him before he left, but Oliver said he looked like a burnt marshmallow with a backpack.

After everyone got home from work and school, it was my turn. Birthday candles. Adult status unlocked. I blew out the candles, everyone cheered, and then I went right back outside to finish the last upgrade on the rocket. I’m not saying I rushed the celebration, but the stabilizer wasn’t going to calibrate itself.

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