Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Archer’s carnally hazed stare shifts up to mine on a deliciously cocky smirk. “See. We had-”
“Mommmmmmmmmm!” Rainne shouts from the hallway, heavy pounding instantly following. “Pop Pop is here!”
I toss my husband a teasingly glare. “You were saying?”
“Mommmmmmmmmmm!” She screeches a second time. “Pop Pop used his key!”
“Tell him, I’ll be down shortly!”
Like post fixing my hair and makeup.
Dad may be retired now but his detective skills sure the hell aren’t. The last thing I need is him taking one look at my curls being wilder than normal and concluding he’s going to be getting another grandkid. Two is plenty. We’ve talked about a third, but I honestly think it would be too much. As it is sometimes things get overwhelming, ya know? Wait. Does that make me a bad person for not wanting more? Or a bad parent for getting overwhelmed. The parenting books I’ve read – and am currently reading – don’t really have a chapter on the subject nor do they have one about what to do when your children ask for miracles during the holiday season like a Lifetime Channel movie.
After Archer and I exchange a couple less than innocent kisses, we scramble to clean the messes we made, steal a few more heated touches, and change into our respective outfits for the day.
To no surprise, we arrive in the kitchen just in time to see him carrying Henz around the space on his hip while chomping on Santa’s Trash cookies.
They’re the ones my daughters help me make every year primarily because it’s a lot of crunching and mess making and one concoction that doesn’t require precise measurements when it comes to the ingredients.
“Pop Pop, you’re not supposed to have cookies for breakfast,” my youngest sweetly announces despite her obvious jealousy.
Dad loudly smacks on the treat prior to proclaiming, “You know, Sprinkles, when your mom was busy baking you…she was also often busy baking for me.” He has another bite of the almost gone dessert. “Cookies. Allllll the cookies. She was constantly covered in sugar, which is how the two of you came out so sweet.”
Henz giggles at the story, yet Rainne looks up from the book she’s reading with a skeptical stare. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Pop Pop.”
“And were all the cookies for you?” Archer playfully jabs as he heads for the fridge.
Dad tosses his son-in-law a snarky smirk. “I ate them, didn’t I?”
“Often for breakfast,” I sassily poke in return.
“That’s not healthy,” Rainne scolds before turning the page in her book.
“Funny,” Dad happily chuckles, “that’s what Mimi said, too.”
Yeah. I can practically hear what you’re thinking. And yes. She is a little bundle of both of my parents. It’s a very odd, not always fun combination, but I wouldn’t change her. Not for anything.
“Speaking of breakfast,” Archer segues at the same time he opens the fridge, “you two need to eat before going out with Mimi. Let’s do muffins and fruit. Who wants what this morning?”
“Apples, please,” Rainne politely insists. “Green.”
“Coconut,” her sister unexpectedly states, stumbling Archer’s movements.
His head cocks her direction on a curious quirked eyebrow. “What?”
“Coconut,” she repeats herself, using the same tone and volume. “Like the song. Oh! And lime, please.”
Chuckles brew in both of us; however, we both somehow manage to stuff them down. My husband politely clears his throat prior to retorting, “We don’t have coconut, angel, but we do have limes. Would you like limes with your chocolate chip muffin?”
“Okay!” She enthusiastically exclaims.
We believe fully in letting our kids explore and develop their own likes and personalities even if it means serving something that makes our own stomachs churn.
“Pop Pop, want a lime?” Henz offers while dusting crumbs out of his salt and pepper beard.
“Is there tequila?”
“Dad.”
“No, thank you, Sprinkles.” He smiles warmly at the little girl in his arms. “I think Mom and me are gonna stop for breakfast on our way to the range.” His attention swings to my husband who has returned to gathering fruit from the fridge. “You sure you don’t wanna join us, Archer?”
He momentarily peers over his shoulder. “Positive. That’s your time with Jaye. It should stay that way.”
Over the years, my relationship with my dad has only gotten better, which considering how close we were before probably doesn’t surprise you, huh? Part of that is because of Archer. I mean I love our time together, but he’s always pushed me to keep the other relationships I have in my life just as nurtured as ours. Sometimes that means he’s home with the girls all day while me and dad eat Mom unapproved hot wings and binge watch old cop movies. Even when the girls were each first born and I felt guilty about being away, he never made me feel bad or insisted I focus more on our children. In fact, he encouraged me to keep the bond. Told Dad it was one he’s building with his own daughters. Which he is. No, they don’t go to the shooting range – Dad demands he’s there for their real intro into weapons – but they do have daddy, daughter dates. He typically takes Rainne for cheesecake and to the planetarium and Henz for macaroons and to the aquarium. I honestly feel like healthy relationships are on the top of all of our must lists nowadays. Mom and I are still…working through being connected, but we’re definitely closer than we’ve ever been.