"Let's go outside," Gillian directed, grouping her fingers in a brushing motion by her head. Owen looked up from where he was playing with miniature cars and trucks behind the three-seater couch, in front of the bookshelves, his and Lewis's little designated toy area in the living room. "Outside," he agreed, waving his arm in a similar motion but missing the definition of the fingers. His favourite colour was red at the moment and his t-shirt was bright while his shorts faded from frequent washing. Gillian could see he'd separated the pint-sized vehicles into red and every other colour. Sometimes Owen was seriously away in his own world.

"The clothes are ready," Gillian told him.

"Yup, yup, yup," Owen repeated following her down the hall in a squishy pull-ups waddle, punctuated by a few hurried steps to keep up.

Gillian waited at the stairs heading down into the garage for him, taking his hand to help him down, then closing the internal door behind them; habit. She headed through the garage to the laundry at the rear and unlocked the back door. "Ooooh out there!" Owen announced excitedly, toddling along behind his mother.

Gillian popped the lid of the washing machine open and crouched down in front of it to pull the wet clothes inside into the basket. "I help," Owen placed cold fingers on her leg to balance himself and reached in with his left. "Oooph."

"Thanks," Gillian gave him a quick kiss. "Very strong."

"Haft be verr strong," Owen agreed with a firm nod. He got to his feet before his mother and wandered away. Gillian lifted the basket and nudged the washing machine's door closed with the edge of her leg. "Mum!" Owen cried suddenly sounding desperate. "I stuck!" He was straddled across his plastic three wheeled motorcycle and he was running it against the weather-proof lip of the open back door.

"You have to lift it," Gillian instructed on a light laugh, adjusting her grip on the weight of the wet clothes against her hip.

"I can't!" Owen wailed, not even trying.

"The front," Gillian suggested. "Lift the front first."

Owen made a straining sound as he tried to pull on the red handle bars. Gillian laughed again softly, watching him; she knew better than to interfere before he was ready. He was at that stage where he wanted to do everything for himself, whether he had the skill level and experience or not. His face went red and he finally gave up. "Mum!" He cried again, turning to look at her, baleful blue eyes, so much like his brother.

"Would you like some help?"

"Help," Owen nodded with a pout, bringing his hands together, right fist in the palm of his left hand and directed them towards her.

Gillian put the washing basket on top of the dryer and got him to stand up. Owen climbed off the mini-motorbike and stood beside it while his mother lifted the handle bars to allow it to roll over the lip of the door and onto the concrete outside. "Oh yes!" Owen enthused, getting in close again. "I do it, I do it," he batted his mother away and lifted the back wheels, shoving the plastic bike right over the edge of the doorway and on to its side. "Oh no," he murmured to himself, hanging on to the door frame to step over the lip himself. While he righted the vehicle Gillian retrieved her washing and headed the few metres to the washing line on the edge of the backyard, in the brilliant sun.

While she hung the wet clothes up, Owen rode his bike around and around the back yard, taking the same path his big brother did on his two-wheeler, but having to push off the ground instead of peddling. He wanted a big bike like his 'bid brudda' but Cal told him he had to be big first; not yet. When she finished, Gillian snapped a picture of the two and a half year old. He would be going off to day care next week. Now that Lewis was settled back at school for another year, it was Owen's turn to start day care. He was old enough and it was time but Gillian was going to miss being at home with him.

She sent the picture to Cal along with an almost perfunctory 'your son'. After she sent it, she realised Owen was murmuring to himself slightly as he passed by in his wide loop. Gillian watched him for a while longer, fascinated. He didn't seem to be talking to anyone in particular and she couldn't hear what he was saying; sometimes she suspected he just liked the sound of his own voice; so different from his big brother.

"I'm going back inside now!" Gillian called to him. Also different from his big brother. Sometimes she forgot Owen was a hearing child, she was so used to having to go to Lewis to get his attention.

"Oh!" Owen looked surprised. He started making his way over to her, pushing his chubby legs against the ground, and when that wasn't fast enough he got up and dragged the bike towards her with one hand on a handle. "Me too. Me too Mummy." He placed an open hand against his mouth. Gillian felt a pang in her heart and held out her hand to him as he got closer, waiting patiently for him. His hands were warm now, sticky actually, and hot. "We go you and me," he told her as they started to head inside again.

Yeah, she was going to miss him.

PJ

Cal's phone buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out while saving the file he had been typing up with one hand. There was an email with an attachment and it was from Gillian. Cal opened it with anticipation. She often sent him messages during the day of whatever she and Owen had got up to, and sometimes from whatever she, Owen and Lewis had got up to when their elder boy was home from school. He loved getting them. Sometimes it reminded him of what he was missing out on, but most of the time it was a nice way to stay involved with their adventures; Gillian often had something planned for the afternoons before it was time to start dinner. She was a good mum.

Today it was a picture of Owen sitting on the toilet, nothing on but a bright red t-shirt, a triumphant grin and a shawl made of toilet paper. His pull-ups and shorts were a puddle beneath his feet, which were swinging from the bowl. There was a step to help him up but that didn't mean his little legs could reach. He was good at keeping himself dry during the days. Number two's were a bit of a different story and he needed to be in undies before he could start at day care. He didn't seem to take toilet-training too seriously and it was taking a lot of patience, but at least the terrible sixteen-to-twenty-seven-months seemed to have settled down a bit for him to be able to focus on something as complex as knowing when he needed to go to the toilet. Never mind the terrible two's; for Owen they had extended beyond the usual parameters.

Cal smiled to himself. The message at the bottom was the same as the message before, of him on his bike: your son. But there was also a 'success!' added as well and he knew Gillian would have been smiling while typing it out. Cal quickly jotted a note back, hitting send just as he was called away to a meeting. The sooner Gillian was back to deal with these mundane things the better. Two and-a-bit years had gone by quickly but still, Cal had reached his limit. As much as he knew Gillian wanted Owen to stay at home with her, the terror was getting to his limit as well. He needed to be in a learning environment with his peers while Gillian needed adult company and conversation. Cal needed his business partner back. He missed his wife.