All That We Are Is Who We Must Be

Baz.

My heart is racing as we drive back to Cheltenham to pick up the girls from school, and the grin on my face doesn't fade.

I got the job!

I don't start until next year, but I couldn't be happier. I've got the most beautiful, amazing husband in the world, a great house, two sweet, clever, adorable daughters, and now my dream job. I feel like I could fight the moon and win.

We get back home just in time to get the girls, but even if we were late, it wouldn't matter. Simon and I have this down to a fucking science. We always pick up Lulu from daycare first, and we leave our car in the carpark there. Then we walk across the street to Tasha's school. We absolutely cannot drive there. It works this way because Lucy talks incessantly (only to us, though; she's very shy around anyone who's not family) and has a very specific routine she has to do before getting into the car, or we'll enter 3-year-old-meltdown-time (she has to take off her shoes, say hello to the car, and then climb into her seat herself, which can take ten minutes on a good day). We can't pick up Natasha first, because she's a five-year-old socialite (in the funniest way possible. That girl might very well be the Queen of England some day; she's the most poised, graceful kid I've ever met). She inevitably strikes up a ridiculously regal conversation with one of her little friends that will reliably last twenty minutes, so if we were to pick her up first, we would be late to go get Lucy, and then we'd be back in 3-year-old-meltdown-time. (Aleister Crowley, it exhausts me just thinking about this).

So when we get back into town, we park at Lulu's school, then get out of the car to wait on a bench out front. The day is beautiful; October sunshine filtering down through the crimson leaves, dappling our skin in shadows. Simon's hand is warm in mine, and he's resting his head on my shoulder. The air is crisp, but not unpleasantly so; it's got that kind of sharp edge to it that makes you realise how miserably stifling and muggy summer was. A gentle breeze caresses our cheeks, ruffling our hair. It's all very serene and lovely.

"Baz, did we buy candy?" Yawns Simon unconcernedly. Today is Halloween, and something tells me there are two small girls who would be most upset by the lack of sweets.

"Yes, I bought some yesterday," I answer, tugging playfully on the ends of those ridiculous curls. He smiles at me, brushing a kiss against my chin.

"Did you get Aero Bars, too?" I nod.

"Got them. They're safely hidden from the children."

"You got the mint ones?" He asks suspiciously. I smirk at him.

"Yes, like the amazing husband I am, I got the Most Important Flavour."

With a comically solemn look on his face, Simon declares,

"Then tonight, we shall feast!" I laugh before leaning in close to him, pressing my lips to his ear.

"Mint Aero Bars aren't the only thing you'll feast on tonight," I purr. Groaning, Simon swats at my arm.

"Again, Basilton," he complains, trying and failing to hide the fact that he's laughing, "you choose the worst locations for dirty talk." I grin deviantly at him, flashing him a wink.

"Come on, you know you love my poor location scouting skills," I tease. Grinning, Simon crosses his arms, those blue eyes sparkling mirthfully.

"Piss off, you-- Hi, pumpkin!" He breaks off from his insult, waving to someone over my shoulder. Looking up, I see Lulu walking towards us, a huge smile on her face. She's wearing a Tigger costume (because I really fucking love Winnie the Pooh), her little light up shoes peeking out from beneath it. Lucy sees us and starts to run, in that funny, loping way toddlers do.

"Bap! Minnie!" She exclaims, her pink backpack bouncing as she runs.

Neither of our children call us any variant of 'dad'. We adopted them when Natasha was two and Lucy was six months old (their biological parents were Mages from Egypt who were tragically killed while investigating curses inside the pyramids). Tasha had a bit of a speech impediment until she was about three, and I think that's where our titles stemmed from. She couldn't say her 'z' sounds very well, so I became 'Bap', but neither of us are very sure where she got 'Minnie' from. I'm personally fond of our theory that it's a combination of 'mummy' and the last half of Simon's name. We tried to convince the girls to call us 'dad' or something similar, but I think they heard our names so often during the process of adopting them that it kind of stuck. Anyway, by the time Lucy was old enough to do more than gurgle, the nicknames had stuck and she picked them up, too. Part of me wonders if they'll call us 'dad' once they're older, but if I'm honest, the day that I'm no longer 'Bap' will be a sad one.

"Hello, love," I say to her as she gets to us. She holds out her arms to be held.

"Bap, can I hold you?" She asks (Lulu never asks to be picked up or held, it's always 'Bap, can I hold you?' or 'Minnie I wanna hold you!'). I pick her up, pulling her onto my lap.

"Hi, Lulu," says Simon, placing a kiss on her forehead. She wraps her chubby arms around Simon's neck.

"Where's your costume, Minnie?" Uh-oh. That little thundercloud that always means a tantrum is coming crosses her face. Simon smooths her hair, tucking it behind her tippy-out ears.

"We're going to put them on when we get home, silly girl. We have to go get your sister first."

"And if you're both good," I add, playfully poking her in the side and earning a giggle, "we can go get ice cream." The promise of costumes and ice cream seems to satisfy her, because her face clears again. Simon and I exchange a grateful look; tantrums are not fun.

"Let's go get your sister, Lulu," Says Simon, lifting Lulu onto his lap before standing up. I grab her backpack and sling it over my shoulder.

We make our way across the street, the leaves on the ground muffling the sound of our footsteps. Simon sets Lulu down at her insistence, and we each hold one of her hands as she tromps through the leaves, occasionally swinging her. The walk isn't far, but it's so nice out I'm contemplating making the girls go for a longer walk with us. But I suppose we'll be able to do that when we take them trick-or-treating.

We arrive at Natasha's school, children bustling about in the schoolyard all around us. Lucy presses close to my leg, hiding her face like she always does when she's feeling shy. I pick her up, kissing her cheek before looking around for her older sister. Some of the other parents try to say hi, but I just flash them cordial smiles and let my (much friendlier) husband talk with them.

After a few minutes of scanning the crowd of sugar-crazed children (they're like a horde of ants, I swear), I finally find Natasha. She's talking with a few friends, a graceful, lazy smile on her sweet face. If it weren't for her ladybug costume, she'd fit right in at one of Dr. and Mrs. Wellbelove's posh parties.

"Tasha!" I call out to her, "Love, it's time to go home." She glances up at me, her face lighting up. With a quick goodbye to her friends, she runs over, grabbing my legs in a hug. Between the weight of Lulu in my arms and Tasha holding onto my legs, I nearly stumble, but a hand touches my shoulder, steadying me. Simon. I smile over my shoulder at him, and he leans in to kiss my cheek.

"Hello there, little bug!" He says to Tasha, tweaking her sparkly red antennae. She wrinkles her little nose at him.

"I'm not a bug!" She protests. Simon bends down so he's at her height.

"Oh yes? Then what are you, little bug?" He teases. I smile down at them as Lulu tugs my hair from its ponytail, playing with it (she calls it braiding, I call it knots).

"I'm a little girl, Minnie!" she insists. Simon huffs a fake sigh, smiling.

"Alright, alright, you're not a bug," He concedes playfully, picking her up. "Come on, you two, let's go get some ice cream."

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My cousin's three-year-old does the whole 'mommy can I hold you?' and I swear it's the most adorable thing ever. I couldn't resist giving it to Simon and Baz's girls.