Sgt. Vincent Trent was an Army man to the core.
That is, he by training that had become instinct knew the patterns of everyone around him.
He also knew his share of military practices and procedures.
So, when he saw almost-never-still-and-quiet Lil' Robert Ludlow park himself in front of his cousins' door, he knew.
The five-year-old spirit and image and namesake of his grandfather, Capt. R.E. Ludlow Sr., also late of the U.S. Army, was having all the Robert Edward Ludlowness kick right in, with his face hilariously reflecting his grandfather's strategic seriousness in adorable miniature.
The siege of the Lee house by Lil' Robert Ludlow could only mean one thing.
“Well, Mrs. Lee is making biscotti today – I don't know how Lil' Robert smells them before anyone else does, but he is always the first in line!” Sgt. Trent said to Mrs. Melissa Trent.
“That boy has a homing beacon for food,” Mrs. Trent said.
“The rest of the Ludlow army should be there any minute to join the siege – yep,” Sgt. Trent said as the other seven little Ludlows took their cue from Lil' Robert and parked themselves in array around him.
“Even Grayson came away from his Legos, but I get it,” Mrs. Trent said.
“She always makes enough, but they just need to make sure – those kids have had a hard time in life before the big Ludlows got them, and sometimes you just see it all.”
“Yeah, it's actually sad,” Mrs. Trent said, “and that's part of the way I remind myself I can't slip back to not staying on top of my mental health stuff. Our kids need both of us to be on it.”
“And I appreciate your commitment,” Sgt. Trent said as he took his wife into his arms and snuggled her. “You are essential to them … and also to me.”
“I know, because you came to get me back, and I did nothing to deserve that,” Mrs. Trent said. “You help me remember how much God in Christ loves me … so I don't need to let Him down, and I don't need to let you down, and He'll help me so I won't!”
“He surely will,” Sgt. Trent purred, “and I'm glad to be available as part of His blessing to you.”
He kissed her, and she was glad to linger in that before both of them cracked up laughing as their nine-year-old Milton walked by saying to his sisters, “But I don't understand why they say to the victors go the spoils, because who wants spoiled food?”
“It's how you do it, Milton,” eleven-year-old Velma said. “Spoil milk right, and you get cheese and yogurt. It's all about the dairy.”
“Oh yeah, I get it now,” Milton said.
“Ain't it the truth, y'all, ain't it the truth,” eight-year-old Gracie said. “That's why they had to conquer that place called Cheddar, back in the day.”
