"BONZAI!" I yell as I jump through the air, William tucked safely against my chest, the twins screaming with glee as I land in a pile of snow. William immediately wiggles out of my arms, hurtling down the tiny embankment to his brother and sister, the three of them scrambling and sliding across the snow as they run to their next hiding spot.
I pant from exertion, my breath coming in thick, white puffs in front of my face as I crouch down, sliding to the far side of the back porch, blocking myself from view. I can hear the kids giggling, their little boots crunching through the snow as they try to plan their next ambush. I'm not sure how much planning they can really do at this age, but I do know they'll wait for me to make my move, which I'll usually do with very little hesitation. Unless I want to get them—their patience is minimal, so if I don't show up within a few moments, they'll start peeking around corners and from behind trees and bushes, or sometimes even calling out to me if they really get hard up.
I glance up at the back of the house and can see Monica shaking her head at me through the kitchen window, amusement written all over her face. I narrow my eyes at her playfully, putting my finger to my lips to motion for her to be quiet. Her hands—covered in flour—raise in surrender and she goes back to her task, her lips moving as she sings along to whatever it is she likes to bake to.
We're such a suburban cliché right now that we should be ashamed of ourselves. The dad playing with the kids in the snow while the mom bakes cookies in the kitchen, probably with cider or hot chocolate on standby for when tiny, cold people need to be thawed out. That's about as clichéd as one family can get. The only thing I'd change is having Monica out here with us, but I suppose someone has to hold down the fort…and bake the cookies.
I hear a giggle and I peek through the railings—the kids are easy to spot in their brightly colored snowsuits, but I play along anyway. I hear one of the twins say, "Shush, Liam!" but more laughter follows anyway.
"Oh, I hope those mean old Bing children don't find me," I say loudly, gathering snow in my gloved hands to form very loose snowballs. "I don't know what I'd do if they got me."
"We get Daddy." That's Erica—I'd know trouble anywhere. She's the one who wants to be caught. Jack wants to be chased. William just wants to be part of the action.
"C'mon, Liam." I hear their little feet crunch through the snow and I start whistling loudly, playing overly casual for their benefit. I look behind me and angle my foot to make sure they can find me.
"Dah-dee," I hear William say, and I nearly turn into a pile of inconsolable mush. He's only just started moving out of "dada," and the result has been unbelievably adorable.
Their footsteps get closer, their giggles get louder, and I bite my lip to hold back my own laughter. This shouldn't be this much fun. I look up at the kitchen window to find Monica watching us again, slowly eating a cookie, probably eager to see the action unfold. I turn around suddenly, my kids' eyes growing wide as I startle them. "Bwahahaha!" I exclaim, tossing the snowballs gently in the air, watching them break apart before raining down on them. They all shriek and turn, skidding away across the yard. I crawl after them, my knees growing cold and wet through my jeans. William stumbles a bit, his coordination not on the same level as his brother and sister's yet, but I pretend that they're all too fast for me, anyway.
"Curses! They're getting away!" I exclaim dramatically, grabbing at the snow as if I'm doing my damndest to keep coming for them. Jack and Erica hide behind a tree, their little faces peeking back at me. William slides again and lands on his butt; I can see his shoulders moving as he breathes heavily.
"Hurry, Liam," Jack calls, forgetting that he's supposed to be hiding, but William just drags himself to his feet and turns to face me, a broad grin on his round face. Before I can react, he grabs a mitten-full of snow and flings it at me. My mouth drops open in surprise, a laugh falling out of me before I can stop it.
"William, did you just get Daddy?" I ask, clutching my chest.
"Get Dah-dee!" he yells, flinging more snow at me and I stumble backward, dropping to my knees.
"Ooof! He got me. William…got…me…" I gasp, dropping onto my back.
"Get Daddy!"
I lift my head up in time to see Jack and Erica rushing at me just before William jumps on my chest. A moment later I have two more squirming toddlers throwing themselves at me, and I hold the three of them close, my arms, for the moment, long enough to hug all of my children at once.
It occurs to me at this moment that this is what I've always really wanted to do, even if I didn't want to admit it myself. But I wanted this—I wanted a family. I wanted beach trips and dirty diapers and temper tantrums and snow days. It seems almost silly to want some of those things, and when the three of them meltdown at one time, life is hell on earth and I usually wish I were anyplace but with my kids, but I truly am living the dream. If I'm really honest with myself, this is what I've wanted my whole life. I've wanted to have a house and a family and to play with my kids in the snow. I fought commitment and marriage and parenthood and just plain adulthood for such a long time, and now that I have all of that, I know why I did—I was actually scared of not finding the right person to have all this with, because it wouldn't mean as much without my wife by my side. Lucky for me, perfection was right across the hall the entire time. My years with Monica have been the best of my life and I guess it all seemed so scary back then because forever is a long time. Now I know that forever couldn't possibly be long enough.
Three happy little faces, noses and cheeks all pink from the cold, pop up in front of me again and I squish them tighter, their yelps and laughter ringing in my ears, and I don't care that everything from my waist down is soaking and freezing. This is the best and only place I could ever imagine being. I get to be Monica's husband, Jack and Erica and William's father, and I'm the luckiest man in the world.
I'm such a sap, but I don't care. This is awesome.
"Mommy!" Jack exclaims, suddenly, his head popping up.
"Hi, Mommy!" Erica echoes, her face lighting up as she sees her mother.
"Mama. Hi!"
These kids adore Monica, and it never fails to fascinate me to see their demeanors change as soon as she walks into a room. There really is a special bond that kids have with their mother, and the three of ours are proof that biology doesn't matter in this regard. The love she has for our kids is unlike anything I've ever seen, and it's reciprocated unconditionally.
I tilt my head back and can see Monica standing just outside the back door. She pulled on a hat and scarf in a nod to the chilly temperature, but other than that she's just wearing jeans and a sweater and fuzzy-looking boots. She might be just about the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
"Hi, Snow Bunny," I call as I grin, and all three kids start wiggling.
"Mommy Bunny," Jack and Erica say in tandem, startling me once again with their strange twin simpatico.
A second later, William calls out, "Bun-NAY!" and grins proudly at his new word.
"Anybody want a cookie?" she asks, and I notice that she's holding a paper towel close to her chest, probably filled with goodies. Any excuse she can find to give them food outside she takes—she doesn't mind crumbs at all in the backyard. All three of them gasp and start pulling against my arms, and Monica holds up her free hand. "Ah-ah. Give Daddy a kiss first."
We have inadvertent affection rules. They didn't come about on purpose, but Monica and I have always given the kids hugs and kisses, and it's rubbed off on them so that they're usually pretty affectionate, too. Fortunately, they don't run up to strangers and do it but when it comes to their immediate family and their extended aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, they're quite cuddly. Monica seems to think it's only fair that after they use one or the both of us as a jungle gym, they can at least express a little bit of gratitude in return, even it's just in the form of a hug. It works for us.
Three sets of tiny, cold lips press against my face for a few moments before they roll off of me, hurrying to the porch steps. "Help your brother," I call immediately, and Erica's hand shoots out to steady William.
"Liam want cookie?" she asks as he grips the railing with one hand and uses his sister's weight with the other to pull himself up the short flight of stairs.
"Tookie!" he exclaims, and I can see Monica smile down at them happily. "Mama tookie!"
They run over to her, hands out, but she just shakes her head. "What do we say?"
"Pleeeeeease," they chorus, and she nods in satisfaction.
"A cookie for Jack," she says, bending down to kiss his cheek. "A cookie for Erica." Another kiss on the cheek. "And a cookie for William." He gets a kiss on his forehead only because it's easier to reach than his cheek.
"What do you say to Mommy?" I ask, still on the ground.
"Thank you, Mommy," the twins answer, grinning up at her.
"Takka," William adds, trying his hardest.
"You're welcome. Eat them slowly." Monica's cooking and baking have always been excellent, but since having kids, she's really stepped up her game in the baked goods department. She wasn't kidding when she said she wanted to make the best cookies in the world, and maybe our kids are just sugar fiends but they go nuts over Mommy's cookies.
"Jack, look! No-man," Erica says, holding hers out to her brother.
"I gots day-dul," he answers, showing off his own.
"Dog," William insists, holding out his, and Jack inspects it carefully.
"That Rudy!"
I think I've been spending too much time with a group of toddlers, but I managed to perfectly understand that conversation—Erica has a snowman, Jack has a dreidel, and William has a reindeer. I'd think I need to spend more time with people my age, but they're not nearly as much fun as my kids.
"Stay on the porch," Monica says as she walks over toward me. "Don't go inside without Mommy or Daddy."
"'Kay, Mommy," Jack answers as he nibbles at his cookie.
She walks down the steps to me, and I keep one eye trained on our little gremlins—considering they're not all that coordinated, they can disappear faster than we can blink. "That feel good?" she asks, holding a cookie out to me.
"What? Lying in the snow? It feels great." I wiggle myself around, fighting off the urge to cringe at the sensation of my pants getting even more thoroughly soaked. I take the cookie, amazed that it's still just a touch warm. "Thanks, babe." I grab her wrist and yank her down on top of me.
She shrieks with laughter, twisting her body to avoid flopping into the snow. "You're so dead."
"I accept that," I answer, wrapping my arms around her, rocking back and forth as I move her closer and closer to the ground.
"You're gonna regret this," she tells me as she tries to wiggle away. "And you're going to ruin your cookie."
Only Monica would be concerned about that. Keeping my arms around her, I manage to shove the entire cookie in my mouth. "Mmmm. Delicious," I mumble, and she ducks away from me.
"Eww. Don't talk with your mouth full!"
"Daddy, what doin'?" Jack asks, and we look up at the porch to see three little faces staring back at us, all perched on the top step.
"We're playing, buddy," I answer, tickling Monica's side, making her jerk even as she laughs.
"Daddy in twouble?" Erica asks, her eyes wide as she munches on the last bit of her cookie. "In trouble" is a phrase she learned fairly early on, which isn't shocking considering how hard-headed she can be.
"I help Mommy?" Jack asks, looking ready to spring into action, prepared to save his mother.
"No, sweetheart. Mommy can take Daddy. But thank you." I reach up to bite her neck when her fingers suddenly grab my inner thigh, pinching hard. I yelp as I release her, and she maneuvers away from me faster than I expected. I rub my sore leg as she stands, smiling at the kids. "See? Mommy won. So, who wants hot chocolate?"
"Chocka!" William screeches, getting to his feet faster than either of his siblings.
"Mommy hurt Daddy?" Erica asks, and I notice that she's scooted down a step closer to me, trying to look innocent even as she attempts to leave the porch.
"No, sweet pea—Mommy didn't hurt Daddy," I answer as I finally drag myself to my feet. "She just surprised me. Let's go inside." I stand at the bottom of the steps to make sure no one stumbles before I follow my wife, taking off my gloves and sliding my hand under her sweater. She squeaks as she jumps, batting at my arm, but I grab onto the back of her jeans, my fingers below the waistband. "You're toasty," I whisper.
She tries to ignore me as she opens the sliding glass door for the kids. "Take off your boots and hats and mittens on the mat," she instructs us. "Jack and Erica, please help your brother out of his snowsuit."
"'Kay, Mommy," Erica answers, the three of them already in a pile just inside the door, pulling off their snow gear.
I pull the door shut behind us all and wrap Monica in my arms, pressing my lips to hers. "You're such an ass," she mumbles quietly, kissing me back enthusiastically.
"Love you, too, honey," I answer, my cold hands sliding across her back. She gives me a little shove a moment later, pointing down; Erica, William, and Jack's little faces stare up at us, fascinated. "Hi, guys," I say, coming back to myself a little. It's hard not to get carried away around Monica, though.
"Hi," they answer simultaneously, and Monica chuckles.
"Get out of those wet clothes," she tells me. "You're freezing." That's all she has to say and I'm suddenly ice cold, my soaked clothing making me shiver down to the bone. She makes a sympathetic face at me and pulls my jacket from my shoulders. "There are towels in the dryer," she says, gesturing to the laundry room. "And pajama pants, too. Just turn it back on when you're done so the clothes will be warm for the kids."
"Perfect wife and mother," I tell her as I toe off my own boots, sidestepping the kids as I dash into the laundry room. With a great amount of effort, I pull off my wet jeans, shivering. I pull my sweater over my head, relieved to find that my thermal shirt underneath is still dry. Still, it'd be a small price to pay to have that sort of fun with the munchkins. I grab one of the wonderfully warm towels out of the dryer, listening to Monica chat with the kids about…something. Their conversations can still be hard to follow, but it's getting easier. The real trouble comes from them all clambering for Monica's attention at once.
I wrap the towel around my waist, pulling off my equally-soaked underwear, shivering just looking at them. "Honey?" I call.
"Just put it all in the laundry basket," she answers, amazing me once again with how she knows things so instinctively. "I'll get to it later."
I cringe at the never-ending pile of dirty clothes—who knew five people could wear so many clothes in twenty-four hours? I'd help, but it's really Monica's domain. Not surprisingly, she's a master at sorting and stain-removal, but I always help with folding and put away. What our lives have become. It seems like just yesterday Monica and I were "doing laundry" as often as possible just to sneak away to have sex. Now we literally have to do laundry every day just to break even.
"Anyone who wants hot chocolate should probably go sit down," I hear her say, and a moment later, I can hear their little sock-covered feet racing through the kitchen to get to the tiny picnic table we put in there for them, mostly so they can feel like they're a part of things even when they can't really help. Plus, it helps us keep an eye on them.
I grab my pajama pants out of the dryer, snagging a fresh pair of socks and underwear while I'm at it, and dress myself quickly, reveling in the feel of warm laundry on cold skin. My wife really is a genius.
I snap the dryer back on before I forget and open the door back to the kitchen, leaning against the jam to watch my family. Monica has somehow managed to squeeze herself into the picnic table with the kids, and is doing an amazing job of not getting panicky as they spill what is probably closer to tepid than "hot" chocolate on the fronts of their shirts. There are certain parts of our world where she demands complete order and control, and I love her for it—she keeps our household running smoothly. But there are a lot of other parts, mostly child related, where she's learned to step back and just enjoy the ride, not worrying so much about little messes or spills, and sometimes even letting go of the big messes. Motherhood really has changed her; she's calmer now, and our priorities have shifted. Spending time with our kids is more important than most anything else.
"Dah-dee," William says as he notices me, his teeth covered in chocolate as he grins. He grabs a cookie that's on the table in front of him, holding it out for me. "Tookie?"
"No, thanks, little man," I answer. "I'll get my own cookies. Enjoy yourself."
He scrunches his nose at me and stuffs a piece of it in his mouth, an attractive combination of crumbs and hot chocolate oozing between his teeth.
Monica smiles up at me as she runs her hand through Erica's soft blonde hair. "There's a mug for you on the counter, in case you're still thawing out."
"Best wife ever," I answer, wrapping my chilly hands around the mug before I take a sip, smacking my lips appreciatively. "Ooo. Adult hot chocolate?"
"There may be a touch of Bailey's in there, yes," she answers, giving me a wink.
"You trying to take advantage of me?"
She scoffs in disbelief. "Yeah, I need to feed you alcohol to have my way with you."
"Honey, you don't have to roofie me, I've told you that."
"You're sick," she answers. "Guys, don't pay attention to your father."
"Why?" Jack asks, looking at me curiously.
"Because he's extra silly," she tells him, lifting an eyebrow at me.
"That I am," I agree, taking another sip. "Mon, what do you say—you and me later? Our room, roaring fireplace, maybe some of this awesome whipped cream you've concocted for the hot chocolate?"
She says nothing for a moment—I know I haven't pushed her too far because we've certainly used various forms of toppings and food products in our sexcapades over the years. More likely, she wants to torture me. After a moment, she leans forward, giving all the kids a kiss before gracefully unfolding herself from the tiny table, moving to the fridge and pulls out a shiny, stainless steel canister. Her eyebrow quirks and my knees go weak. She doesn't have to say a word; she merely twitches a muscle and I'm a pile of goo.
"God, I love you," I tell her. She grins magnificently as she puts the whipped cream away.
"Love you," Erica says in a singsong voice, and I turn to goo in a whole different way.
"Love you," Jack echoes, smiling up at us.
"Lah oo," William says around his cookie, and Monica walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist, my free hand instantly coming to rest on top of hers.
"We love you, too, babies," she answers for us, and I tighten my fingers against her just a little.
Yeah. Snow days are the best.