The Book Of Me & You

"All I Ask Is - Twist The Knife... Or Bury The Hatchet"

"Whoosh!" He quickened his pace around the apartment, hoisting the cackling 8-and-a-half-month-old above his chin, "It's Super Emma! Whoosh!" Maneuvering his arms up and down fluidly to aid in the effect. She was having a blast, snorting through chortles and loud squeal-screams.

"Me! Me!" He hollered, jumping on the balls of his bare feet and throwing his hands above his head as he watched his sister get flown through the air.

Ricky rose a brow playfully, feeling the ache in his left bicep from his earlier boxing/venting session, "You? But you don't even have a cape?"

John cocked his head, scrunching his nose at his dad's lame excuse because his sister was wearing a bib Ricky shifted backward. "Uh-huh!" Was the boy's rebuttal, grabbing a towel from the basket of laundry on the sofa, and stuffing it inside his Spiderman T-shirt, "Look!" Emma was getting another lap, now flailing her arms as she screamed, making him frown with a whine, "Me now, Daddy!"

Knowing John wasn't going to let up, and that the tantrum would soon start, Ricky expelled air from his cheeks, "Alright, hang on a sec -" Adjusting his arms in a lower position, they started to slow down: feigning engine failure as they made their way to the playpen, and he put Emma inside it. "Super Emma is coming in for a landing... here she goes right into the playpen of doom!" Not at all surprised when her cackling turned into an irritable whiny cry milliseconds later. He knew it would, but it wasn't fair to John to give her all the attention - sharing was always an issue between them. "Hey, don't look at me, I'm just the transport." Putting his hands up in surrender as she screamed and started wobbly trying to pull herself up to glance over the bar.

"I s-ave you, Em-ma!" John shouted, adjusting the towel that kept slipping as his arms shot above his head.

Ricky lifted him up with a small chuckle, adjusting to accommodate his longer and heavier frame. His biceps were burning now, having done too much in such a short amount of time, but he needed that release, even if the pain radiated throughout his spine. Bracing his left arm around his son's small legs, while the right held onto his chest by grasping his shirt tightly, they began to make their way in smaller and slower strides around the apartment.

"Sw-uper John!" John giggled, his left arm outstretched with his fist clenched in a Superman pose as he yelled with each circle around the kitchen table, "Fa-stwer, daddy! Fa-stwer!"

Struggling to keep his grip, Ricky gasped lowly when John started to slip, coughing to hide it, "Um, Super John, you're significantly heavier than Super Emma." Giving one last boost to his forearms, he clenched his teeth and went full speed ahead with an animated, "Whooossshhhhh!" John started to squeal in amusement, filling the small room with his laughter. Something Ricky hadn't heard in a while, and it made him smile. "Alright, we're coming in for a landing! Ready?" The boy shook his head, not wanting his fun to end. He did the same thing he'd done to Emma before depositing him, face forward on the couch, his giggles being muffled against the cushions, and taking a seat himself.

Rooting his face against the cushion, John piped up, "A-gin! A-gin!"

Wincing at the dull ache in his legs, Ricky sighed tiredly, leaning his head against the back of the sofa, "What about me? Super Daddy is tired..." His son's brown eyes stared at him, their tiny speck of yellow that had been dulled for so long, now visible again. Amy had that same speck; he saw it every time she smiled with her dimples popping out. In his brief seconds of zoning out, John had moved to his lap; catching him just in time. "Oh really?" Ricky inquired, raising a brow at his son's small fingers flexing right above his ribs: their failed attempt of attack as he tried to dig in like his mom often did, making him chuckle and the baby start to scream-squeal as he turned the tables on him, "C'mere you!" Clutching his small frame as his fingertips scurried around it in a frantic tickle attack.