Drib Drabs (boyxboy) (girlxgirl)

Ice-Pops (Part III)

Bobby starts choking on his ice-pop.

This is what causes me to slap his back gently to help him spit up the offending blue-coloured ice onto the matching kitchen tiles.

“I couldn’t get enough out of the plastic, so I just put it all in my mouth,” he explains sadly. I glance at Jack and we both snort.

Is it bad to laugh at your children when they make innuendoes?

“It tried to kill me!” the eight year old splutters, indignant.

“I’m sure it didn’t mean to,” Jack assures him gently. “Right, Jay?” he asks, nudging me.

“Yes, it did,” Bobby interrupts, before I can answer. He folds his tiny arms over his chest crossly, pouting.

“Is mine going to kill me?” I look at Abby, a little perplexed as how best to assuage their fears that this was a murder conspiracy. She’s glaring at the ruby red ice-pop in her hand suspiciously.

“It’s okay, hun. It won’t bite,” I reassure her.

“No. But I will,” she retorts as she continues munching.

“Daddy?” she calls as I carried our supper plates over to the sink - tonight, it’s my turn to do the dishes.

“Yeah, hunny?”

“Why are the dishes all the way up there?” she asks, eyes full of curiosity, lisp distorting her “r”s and messing up her “th”s.

Turning to check, I could see that the ceramics were piled together in the top shelves of the cupboard, where - I suspected - Jack had put them.

“Probably so you don’t break them,” I shrug.

“Oh,” she takes a second to process this, before nodding in approval. “Good idea.”

“I thought so too,” Jack grins, ruffling her hair on his way to bring the rest of the dishes to the sink.

“Abby, pet, why are you only wearing one sock?” he asks, staring down at her sandals in confusion.

She frowns, following the path of his gaze. “I don’t know… I have two feet…”

“Maybe you should run upstairs and get another one?” he suggests, trying not to laugh.

She shrugs. “Maybe when I’m old like you, Mommy.”

I snigger at the double insult, ignoring Jack’s glare.

“What’s so funny, Mommy?” Bobby wonders aloud, sucking on his index finger, effectively cutting my laughter short.

Now it was my turn to glare, as tears of silent mirth (or, in this case, very loud mirth) ran down my husband’s face. “Oh, God, your face, priceless,” he gasps between breaths.

Confusingly, Abby and Bobby had a fight a few weeks ago over whether me or Jack was their Mom. Neither had won, and Abby had been referring to Jack as Mommy, while Bobby called him Daddy - and vice-versa for me - ever since.

When he calms down, I’m the one crossing my arms over my chest and pouting childishly.

Jack raises an eyebrow at me.

“You’re mean,” I mutter, turning away.

“Oh, come on. That was karma!”

I ignore him and continue to scrub the ketchupy cutlery, while he sends the kids upstairs to get dressed, telling them to shout if they need anything.

His arms snake around my middle, pulling me towards him and his warm chest and away from the sudsy washing-up, gently.

“Are you mad at me?” he whispers quietly, placing his lips against my skin, trailing soft kisses up and down the side of my neck.

“Not if you keep that up,” I murmur, leaning back, into his warmth.

“Are you PMSing, because you’re a woman now?” he jokes, warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

"Very funny," I say sarcastically, turning to flick bubbles at him.

"I know," Jack replies, placing his lips on mine.

His tongue is icy and I can taste the orange flavouring in his mouth. I trail my hands along his triceps, feeling the goose-bumps my fingers leave in their wake, before winding my arms around his neck as I return his kiss.

The way his breath hitches when I run my tongue along his bottom lip. How, after a few seconds, his arms tighten around my waist, making a funny feeling spread through my torso. The tingling in my fingers, the sparks dancing across my lips...

It's all so familiar, yet it never gets old. It's happiness and he's been making me feel it since the very first time we kissed. I will never get used to this, never want to live without it. In the safety of his arms, I know I'll never have to.

"DADDY!"

Sighing, we break apart.

"Duty calls," I laughed, shooing him towards the hall.

"That could mean you," Jack mutters.

"That was Bobby. Which means you." I stick my tongue out at him, whipping him with a dish-cloth when his back is turned.

He gives me the finger, muttering something about "women" while he trudges up the stairs.

Ah, domestic bliss.