"Daddy!" The little girl scrambles on the bed, trying to keep her balance on the slippery sheets. "Daddy, wake up!"
"Daddy" groans and shifts a little under the warm covers, but says nothing.
"Daaaddy," the girl insists, tugging on his snowy bedhead hair that is much like her own.
"Mm," he murmurs.
"It's all white out-thide." She shakes him hard enough to roll off the bed.
A sleepy ruby-red eye peeks at her. "Is it?"
"Mommy! Wake up, wake up! We've gotta go!"
"Yeah, mommy." The man smirks and puts a hand on his wife's arm. "Get your butt out of bed. We've gotta go."
"Soul," she says, not even opening her eyes. "Can I please just sleep in for once…"
The little girl crawls over her father's legs to sit firmly in front of her mother. She puts her face close to hers and blinks rapidly. Soft lashes brush against her skin like a butterfly's.
Maka eyes flutter open and she smiles. "I wonder who taught you how to do that, hm?"
"Daddy did."
Soul shrugs at this.
"Now let'th gooo! I wanna play!" She crosses her arms and sticks out her lower lip in a pout; another trick that her dad has informed her of. Between the wild mess of pale hair, the pleading forest green eyes, and the two missing front teeth that make her speech slightly lisped, it's hard to say no to this little firecracker.
Maka sighs and sits up. "Go get your brother."
She squeals and hops out of her parents' bed, her bare feet padding down the hall as she calls her younger sibling's name.
"You get them dressed," Maka says immediately.
"Aw, what? Okay, then you make breakfast."
"Fine by me." She quickly changes out of her pajamas as Soul lays on his back, trying to salvage another couple minutes of sleep.
Yells and shouts can be heard from the kids. Maka gives him an accusing look.
"I'm going, I'm going!" He hauls himself up and rubs the back of his neck as he walks to their room. "Who's ready to get some clothes on?" he calls out in an attempt of an enthusiastic voice. No answer. "Yeah, I'm with you there."
Maka sets glasses of orange juice and coffee (not for the kids, of course), along with bacon that's still sizzling and spitting in its pan. Fluffy pancakes with syrup are already steaming on their plates.
"Don't fall off," Soul warns. "I won't catch you." The girl perched on his shoulders laughs maniacally, arms wrapped around his head. "Yes, you will!"
"Okay, I will." He feigns dropping her, and she screams. He chuckles and sets her down in a chair. A half-asleep three year old boy clutches his hand, walking in a wobbly line. He struggles to get in his seat; his dad lifts him up.
"All dressed," Soul says, sounding a little ragged. Maka can only imagine the horrors that had just occurred. Kicking, crying, shrieks of "I DON'T WANNA" and scolds of "YOU CAN'T WEAR A TUTU, IT'S BELOW FREEZING OUTSIDE".
His face brightens at the sight of coffee. He takes a gulp and settles down into his own chair, looking more relaxed now that he's had his caffeine fix.
Their daughter chants a mantra of "bacon, bacon" and slams her small fists on the surface of the table, which is stained and drawn on, thanks to five years' worth of spilled food and endless doodles of cats that look more like jack-o-lanterns, not that anyone would ever point it out.
Their son, on the other hand, sits happily in silence while he chews on syrup-drenched pieces of pancake. His shaggy not-quite-blond but not-quite-brown hair hangs in his eyes, and his mom tucks it behind his ear as she meditatively sips coffee. Soul seems to be competing against the little girl to see who can stuff the most bacon into their mouths. She's winning.
After breakfast, everyone stands in the hallway while Mama Bear Maka stuffs her children into heavy winter coats, so many layers of scarves that their faces aren't even visible, hats, earmuffs, boots, mittens, the whole deal.
Maka fusses over her babies not being warm enough, including Soul, who waves her off and tells her to chill out, which of course, sets off an atomic bomb somewhere inside of her. He looks at the kids, who are bundled up like explorers about to brave the Arctic, then to the seething woman who looks as though she's about to explode. He takes off his son's third and second scarf and the mountain man trapper hat that Maka has put on their girl. Then he leans over and gives his lady a quick peck on the lips. Luckily for him, what he thinks will happen happens, and she instantly melts. This gives them enough time to rush out the door. Standing on the porch, the little girl gasps and utters a "whoa".
The entire yard, and as far as they can see, is covered in sparkling, newly-fallen snow. The sky is a dismal-looking shade of light gray, but snowflakes drift lazily to the ground from the thick, puffy clouds that gather overhead.
She gives a delighted shriek and flops down face-first into the carpet of white. "It'th cold!" She rolls around like a worm. "I can't feel my fath!"
Meanwhile, the little boy is poking at the frozen bird bath with a stick. Soul grabs his waist and hoists him up, then takes the girl as well. He growls and roars, stomping his feet. The kids' giggles are most likely from their sugar high, but the fact that their dad is acting like Godzilla certainly doesn't hurt.
"I'M GOING TO EAT YOU." He rubs his nose against their cheeks and makes an "om nom nom" sound.
"Mom," they cry in unison. "Help us!"
Maka stifles a laugh and goes after the rampaging man. "I'll save you!"
"NO, YOU WILL NOT," Soul snarls.
"Are you sure about that?" She's chasing him now. Since he's weighed down by forty pounds of coats, plus two children, his running is more like walking. He tramps through the knee-deep snow and gives a surprised yelp when he sees a very smug-faced Maka sprinting in his direction. He has just enough time to brace himself before she tackles him.
"Hooray! You got him!"
The little boy's crimson eyes are rolling around in his head, but his sister is cheering and jumping up and down. She doesn't seem to be dizzy at all.
Soul, however, is extremely dizzy. His balance was badly thrown off when he got knocked to the ground, and now he and his son are sprawled there while the girls high-five.
"So," he mutters, "uncool."
"Look what I found!" sounds more like "Uuk whuh I 'oun" when it's coming out of a five year old's mouth, especially when that five year old has a gargantuan icicle stuck between her teeth.
"You're going to get stuck," Maka exclaims, reaching out to take it.
"Yeah," agrees Soul. "Haven't you ever seen The Christmas Story?"
The girl stares at him blankly. A drop of melted ice drips from her icicle.
"Well, it was a pole, not an icicle, but it's kind of the same th-"
She bounds off into the winter wonderland without bothering to listen to the rest of the sentence.
"Remind me to get these kids better cultured," Soul says.
"They aren't even in school yet."
"All the more reason to! They can show off to all the other kids!"
"Show off what, that they know movie trivia?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Maka smiles. Her eyes follow the siblings as they shake white fluff from a willow tree. Some splatters onto the boy and he stumbles back, falling on his rear end. His bottom lip begins to wobble, but his sister helps him up and wipes off the snow in his hair.
"What, don't I get a snarky comeback?"
She looks at him. "We did good, huh?"
"What?"
She nudges him in the direction of the kids, and his expression softens.
"Yeah. We did good." He kisses her temple, then shouts, "Hey! Let's make a snowman!" That catches their attention, and they run over as fast as their little toddler legs can carry them. The boy's boot snags on a branch, and he falls down again. This time, he really starts crying.
Soul rushes over and pulls him up into his arms when reassuring words don't stop the crocodile tears.
The girl taps her foot impatiently (she wants to make a snowman right now) but peeks at her brother in concern when he starts hiccuping. "Mommy," she whines after confirming that there's nothing life-threatening going on.
"I'm coming," Maka says soothingly. She picks him from Soul's arms and into her own. "Go make a snowman with Daddy, okay? Make sure it's got a really big head. And a carrot nose."
"Yeah!" She trots off obediently with her father, listening to his careful instructions of how to roll the snow and pack it together.
Maka sits on the porch and holds her son. He's sniffling a little, but there are no streams of water leaking from his eyes, so all is well. Together they watch the two energetic people make the snowman, their white hair blending in so well with the background it looks like they have no hair at all.
It's late now. The snow, once clean, pristine, and gleaming with potential, is now dirty, used, and all over the place. Maka can barely believe that they spent the entire day playing outside, but when she looks at her sleeping angels, she is reminded once again. They were so pooped that they nearly fell over when they got inside. Soul slipped off their boots, unzipped their jackets, removed their mittens, and placed them into bed. The parents kissed them goodnight and retired to the living room.
Maka made hot spiced cider, Soul put on some tunes, and they rested on the couch together, her legs draped across his lap, a pillow underneath her head, and warmth in her heart. Soul rubbed her thigh with the pad of his thumb while she held her mug with two hands. They dozed off to the smooth sound of piano music.
Sometimes being a parent was exhausting, but other times it was so rewarding it was like the best feeling in the world. Today was a perfect balance between the two.