The Ballad of Michael & Beulah

Beulah was on the prowl as she moved strategically around Golden Gate Park as five and a half year old Rory did cartwheels, hand stands, and somersaults in the grass. Armed with her Canon EOS 20D Digital SLR Camera, the blonde 33-year-old stopped focusing on taking photographs of her little girl and instead grimaced about the grass stains she'd have to wash out of Rory's yellow dress.

"Aurora Dawn, don't roll around in the grass."

The little girl who's blonde hair was curled into Shirley Temple-esque ringlets turned her head when she finished a somersault and landed on her butt. "But I'm having fun, mommy."

"Mom! How come Vegas doesn't have to carry anything and I do?" whined Beulah's eldest child; twelve-year-old Bailey.

As the wife of Mike Dirnt and mother of three children turned to glance at her son, she couldn't help but smirk at him. She'd thought it many times before and she'd think it again and again. His hair was thick and wavy, brown but with a hint of blonde from her own genes and the Californian sunlight, and it hung in his eyes and over the tops of his ears.

"My God, you are your father's son," she remarked as he walked by her with a red and white cooler in his arms.

As he looked up at her with a frown, he rolled his eyes. "What else is new?" When she snapped his photograph, he shook his head, but continued to walk.

Beulah began taking more photographs as she heard Mike approaching from behind with Vegas on his shoulders; giving him a piggy back ride. There was a blanket tucked under his arm and a basket in his right hand as he sauntered up to his wife and leaned down to place a kiss on her lips.

"Remind me again why we're spending the 4th of July here instead of at Billie's house like we do every year if we're not on tour?"

"To break tradition and create our own?"

Rolling his eyes, Mike simply shook his head as he raised his arms and hooked his hands under Vegas' armpits to lift his son off his shoulders and set him on the ground.

"Go help your brother set up the blanket and picnic basket," he dictated to the blue-eyed blonde child who was nearing his seventh birthday.

"Okay, Daddy," Vegas replied obediently as he scampered off through the green grass.

Watching their children commune together several feet in front of them, Mike leaned into his wife side and link her arm through his as they stood there and simply watched their interactions with each other and the one, lone white butterfly that Rory was enraptured with.

"I love how she calls them flutterbys," Beulah remarked, noticing the beautiful insect, and gesturing to it.

"Well, that name makes more sense than the real name," Mike spoke thoughtfully. "The only time they will ever look like flying pieces of butter is in Disney's Alice In Wonderland."

Beulah nodded, then turned her head when a thought came to mind. "Hey, speaking of Disney, how was your trip with the kids to Disney Land while I was in New York with Lisea?"

Mike smiled reminiscently. "It was great. They had a lot of fun, but the next time you leave me alone with four kids I'll cut your throat in your sleep." Beulah threw her head back and cackled jovially to which Mike frowned. "I don't know how you do it when me and the guys leave. Granted three of them you gave birth to so you don't exactly got a choice there, but then you take Estelle under your wing so she can hang out with her other siblings and that's what makes four. And on top of things, Stella's a moody sixteen-year-old, Bay's a moody preteen, Veg's this little seven-year-old ball of energy and Rory's five and following suit with the not lack of energy."

Beulah shrugged. "I don't know exactly how I do it. I just know that I love to do it. I came from a big family and when my parents died, we pretty much were used to taking care of each other. Now, of course, I was the baby in the family so when it came to it, everyone was taking care of me." The blonde woman looked out at their children and hugged on tightly to Mike's arm. "Growing up, I hated being in a big family though, and never wanted kids until I was, like...thirty. And even then I would've only wanted one kid. I never knew what I wanted to do with my life, but I wanted to live comfortably and not have to worry about making ends meet."

"Well, you only had to for a little while. Then your unfortunate soul fell into my trap," Mike commented, adding a mock evil laugh afterward.

Nudging her husband in the side, Beulah shook her head. "No...seriously, Mike. I didn't want that life, but then I got it anyway and I can't explain it, but I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have it...or them," she gestured to their children; one of whom was technically fathered by Billie Joe, but was Mike's at heart. "I fell in love with being a mom, and you gave me the chance to be a stay-at-home mom, which I adore. I never in my wildest dreams woulda ever thought of myself as a stay-at-home mom."

"But now you'll be spreading your wings this fall when all the kids are in school. Rory included."

"Well, we agreed I'd stay at home with the kids until then. And I've been taking the steps to get myself matriculated into the job market once again."

"It also helps that Tre's ex-wife is in the same profession you're freelancing in, doesn't it?"

Beulah nodded with a grin. "Damn straight."

"Hey, I never asked you about your trip to the Big Apple, just like you forgot to ask about Disney Land."

"Yeah, why is that?" she questioned with a smirk.

"Probably because when I picked you up from the airport, the kids took precedence in the conversations which spanned from pebbles in their shoes and complaining about it the entire car ride home to if you brought them anything back."

"Ah, yes. That's right."

The couple laughed together at the memory of only a few days prior until Mike turned his face and nuzzled her cheek with the tip and bridge of his nose. "So, how was New York?"

"Wonderful and annoying," Beulah replied. "Wonderful because Lisea showed me the ropes and took me to a few galleries and art shows, and whatnot. Annoying because, shit. I don't know how anyone can live there. It's the noisiest place I've ever been to and just too crowded for my liking. It also doesn't help that my feet hurt from having to walk pretty much everywhere."

"You didn't take cabs?"

"No. Lisea wanted to give me the full Manhattan experience, apparently. I mean, I love the woman to death. She's talented and an all-around great person, but she has to realize I've lived on the West coast and surrounding areas for the majority of my life and I'm not used to that pace."

Mike just smiled. "As long as you always come back to the Bay area after each visit to be at my side when all is said and done, I don't care what you do."

Beulah raised and eyebrow and shook her head, but was then caught off-guard when a random Frisbee came whizzing by her face; just missing her by an inch or so.

"Shit, fuck..." came a familiar voice, and swearing no less. Openmouthed and frowning, Beulah whipped her head to the side as the jangle of car keys followed.

At Beulah and Mike's left was Estelle, with her current boyfriend who's first name escaped the married pair every time they saw him. He was a going to be a senior in the fall with Jakob Armstrong -- that much they remembered -- while she would be a Junior.

"Sorry, Ma," Estelle apologized. She always shifted between calling her stepmother Beulah or Ma. "I didn't think it would get that close."

Estelle's look was sheepish but with a hint of mischief that Beulah only ever saw in looks Mike would give her.

Beulah shook it off and smiled. "All's forgiven." Opening her arms wide, the older woman gave the girl a hug and her boyfriend a polite smile.

It was the least she could do considering her and Mike didn't approve of him. He was headed to nowhere real fast and they didn't want him taking Estelle with him for the ride. And with the last time Mike saw the boyfriend, Beulah was amazed that the teen boy didn't jump out of his skin and run for the hills with how Mike was glaring daggers. But it was either the icy stare of disapproval or Mike grabbing a shotgun and shooting a new hole in the kid's ass.

Beulah was impressed by her husband's ability to hold himself back.

"Hey, Mrs. Pritchard," the boyfriend nodded. Then hesitantly, "Mr. Pritchard."

"Dominic," Mike replied, flashing his daughter a 'why would you invite this goober to our family function' look, to which Estelle rolled her eyes.

Dominic, Beulah repeated in her head. Oh, yeah. That's his name.

"Well, let's have ourselves some sandwiches, shall we?" she spoke up. "I made ham and cheese, salami, turkey on rye..."

"Dominic doesn't eat meat," Estelle inserted.

"Then he can starve," Mike mumbled and only Beulah seemed to hear.

Giving her dear, 41-year-old husband a knowing smile, she turned to her stepdaughter and raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. "Well, there's peanut butter and jelly, too."

"Uh, I'm kinda allergic to peanuts," Dominic chimed in.

As the four of them had been inching closer to the picnic blanket Bailey had spread out, Mike stopped in his tracks, turned to look at Dominic and replied through his teeth, "Kinda allergic? Are you sometimes allergic and sometimes not? Is it a seasonal allergy?"

Both Beulah and Estelle gave Mike a frown.

"Mike--"

"Dad--"

"What? Can't I ask a simple question? He said he was 'kinda' allergic. I was just wondering how someone can be kinda allergic, because as far as I know, you either are allergic or you're not."

"Uh..uh...I am. I am allergic," Dominic stuttered his reply.

Scowling at her father, Estelle linked her arm through her boyfriend's and walked ahead of Mike and Beulah while Beulah nudged her husband and gave him a look.

"You just couldn't play nice, could you?"

"Be happy I didn't slap the stupid off his face."

Despite herself, Beulah let out a laugh, as she unhooked her arm from Mike's and lifted her camera up and took a quick photo of all her kids; making sure Dominic was out of the shot.

"I can't wait for the fireworks, mommy," Rory commented as she sat very unladylike on the blanket; rolling backwards into the grass to look up at the sky. "D'you think there'll be pink fireworks?"

"Maybe," Beulah replied not really paying attention to the question but instead distracted by more potential grass stains. "Rory, sit up or I'll make you change into your shorts and T-shirt."

Rory frowned but did as her mother told.

As the Pritchard family -- and Dominic -- sat down on the blanket to consume their picnic lunch/dinner before the evening's eventual fireworks, Beulah and Mike found themselves molding against each other. She sat between his legs with her back against his chest as he sat backward, propping himself up with the palms of his hands in the grass; but sitting up from time to time to place a kiss here and there on the soft skin of his lovely wife's neck and cheek.

"You know," he began; whispering his words so only she would hear. "The Freeloader aside, this is gonna be a nice 4th of July."

"Told ya."

"Just you, me, the kids frolicking..."

"You call what they do 'frolicking?'"

"Poetic license, m'dear. Poetic license."

Beulah snorted her laughter which caught the eye of Rory, who crawled across the blanket like a toddler only to sit between her mother's legs and look at both of her parents.

"Whatcha laughing at, mommy?"

"Daddy's being funny."

"Daddy's always being funny," Rory commented.

"'Cause I'm a funny guy," the bassist quipped, reaching a hand out to pull his little girl up so that him and Beulah could all group hug with her. "Two of my favorite girls," he cooed. Then, "Stella, get over here so I can hug all my girls."

"Dad," Estelle whined.

"Do it."

After a short-lived grumble on the sixteen-year-old's part she gladly scooted over on the blanket to hug her father, stepmother and sister. But when both Vegas and Bailey suddenly tackled the other four to join in on the group hug, laughter burst out from each family member.

"Hey, can I join in?" Dominic asked with a weird grin.

"No," Mike replied firmly.

* * *

You're such an ass toward Estelle's boyfriend, you know that, right?

I laughed out loud when I read that line on a letter that had two sets of writing on it, as if two people were writing back and forth to each other at the same time, in the same place. Like kids passing notes to one another in school.

So what?

Nothing. Just noting a funny fact. He is a goober, tho.

Something I keep telling you.

You say that as if I doubt you. The kid has nothing going for him.

If Estelle doesn't break it off with him, I'll break his legs.

Haha. Well, if you do that I'll see you in 3 to 5 when you get outta jail for physically abusing a seventeen-year-old boy.

As long as you're at the prison to pick me up when I get released, it'll be worth it.

Ass.

Whore.

I love you.

I love you, too.

Christ, Grandma Beulah and Grandpa Mike were dorks.