Grey Hearts and Flowers

Father's Day

The votes are in and boys won out overwhelmingly. For those of you that wanted one of each, I had already written in previous chapters they were identical and I thought twins of the same sex would be good for storyline purposes down the road, especially for any comedy. Phoebe can remain his princess now, but there is a definite possibility for more sisters in the future as I do love Christian with girls. Thank you for voting and reading all my stories! More to come! The twins will be born soon... Happy Father's Day! xox

I CAN HEAR them downstairs. The rustling; the clanking and clanging; the not so hushed whispers warning each other that they'll wake me if they aren't careful. But, they don't know that at just past six in the morning I'm already wide awake and tiptoeing down the staircase to catch them in the act. I know they want to surprise me—and they will—but I just couldn't resist a peek of my wife and kids preparing my father's day breakfast.

"No, Daddy doesn't like so much pickles," I can hear Phoebe say as I reach the door. It's open a crack, so I can see what's going on. Phoebe's sitting on the center island with her legs and monkey slippered feet swinging off the edge—with Chester on her shoulder in matching monkey footie pajamas—pointing a finger at Teddy, who's wrist deep in a jar of dill chips.

"I'm making a sandwich omelet," Teddy says. "Everybody in all of the earth knows you can't make sandwiches right without the pickles." He shakes his head, exasperated as he slaps his handful into his red plastic bowl, adding a shake of the juice for good measure. And as I look at the jar of Vlasics, I'm bemused as to why a stork is their mascot. Do birds eat pickles? Don't storks bring babies? What does a pickle in a jar have to do with making babies, anyway? And suddenly I'm aghast at the overt sexual undertones going on in my very own refrigerator.

Teddy climbs up on his stool, reaches onto the counter and opens a loaf of brand name white bread, pawing around inside the wrapping a bit, until he finds two pieces to his liking. Hey, who the hell bought that white bread? I never let the kids eat that shit. I bet it was Taylor. Always trying to get on their good side with his closeted junk food habit. That junkie. He thinks I don't see the Ho-Hos he hides in the glove compartment of the SUV, but I do. I have Ho-Ho radar.

"Eww, you can't put the breads in lom-lets," Phoebe says as Teddy throws two squished up slices into the bowl. This kid has really inherited all of my culinary skill.

"But, it's not a sandwich without the breads," he says, and makes sure to squish the bread within an inch of its preservative laden shelf life.

"I don't ever eat wet pickle and egg sammys," Phoebe says, scrunching her nose. Chester does, too. Chester looks kind of cute as a little monkey. Although the feet on that thing are as big as his monkey hooded head.

When Teddy reaches for the mustard and ketchup and a bottle of Flamin' Jimmy's hot sauce, I know I'm in for it. I bet Taylor is responsible for Flamin' Jimmy, too.

"Teddy, why don't you just do ham and cheese for the filling and we can set the French toast on each side and that can be the bread," Ana says as she appears from the pantry with some sugar and spices and everything about her looking so nices. She's a goddess with her hair piled on top of her head and her silver satin gown and robe that hugs to her almost twice baked bump and her luscious breasts, while the rest cascades behind her like a waterfall. Debasement and high ideals all in one, is my Ana. And I smile, because I know any other Sunday morning she'd be in her comfy plush terry cloth and my old t-shirts and sweat pants, but she knows I like her in the finest satin or silk, so she's dressed for me today.

"But, I wanna put pickles in it," Teddy pouts.

"Tell you what—how about we put a few on top after we cook it? That way Daddy can see how creative and delicious it is as soon as he looks at it."