(no subject)
It's so fucking early.
I had been sleeping. This fucking amazing, deep coma kind of sleep, curled up between one husband and a spare, and lazy good morning kisses and a sleepy, slowmotion fuck were hours away. Or, that was the plan, but it was still fucking dark outside when I crashed awake, ripped out of that peace by a pair of pointy knees jamming into my spleen and a high-pitched fucking yodel of a voice in my ear.
"Breakfast!" With extra exclamation points.
That was... God, two hours ago, and now I'm hunched over the table in the rec room, pouring coffee down my throat as fast as I can manage, with a red crayon in one hand and a barely muffled yawn hidden behind the other. Tom's doing building crew things and Mike's opening the Winchester for breakfast, and Flo is quietly flipping through a picture book on the rec room couch, tapping to the jukebox music with her tiny Mary Jane shoes.
Today, she's the fucking angel-child. Squinting, I can almost see the goddamn halo over her head. Mack, though...
"Neil, no!" she shrills, and I bite back a wince, blinking away the hazy spots in front of my eyes and answering, "What is it?"
"Nooooo," she says again, and she looks furious, tiny two and a half year old face scrunched up and bright red. She reaches over to snatch the crayon from my hands and I look down and realize I'd been coloring in the sun on the coloring book page she'd shoved at me moments ago with a red crayon.
"Kiddo, it's a coloring book. You can color it in anyway you want," I tell her, but she obviously thinks I'm lying. Apparently this is the kind of shit that really winds up at two, going on three year old.
"We never should've taught you your colors," I mutter, reaching over to grab the yellow crayon so I can correct my mistake.
Turning to look over my shoulder at her sister, I say, "Can you believe this?" Flo just laughs, that high-pitched giggle of hers that's still cute even at seven in the morning, and I pretend like she knows exactly what I'm talking about. Or maybe she's just laughing at me.
It's gonna be a long fucking day.
[[Timed for ass-crack of dawn Wednesday morning. I know this is late for a lot of you, so LT/ST obviously welcome, since I'm going to be going to bed soon myself. Open to anyone, whether you want to laugh or help the guy out.]]
I had been sleeping. This fucking amazing, deep coma kind of sleep, curled up between one husband and a spare, and lazy good morning kisses and a sleepy, slowmotion fuck were hours away. Or, that was the plan, but it was still fucking dark outside when I crashed awake, ripped out of that peace by a pair of pointy knees jamming into my spleen and a high-pitched fucking yodel of a voice in my ear.
"Breakfast!" With extra exclamation points.
That was... God, two hours ago, and now I'm hunched over the table in the rec room, pouring coffee down my throat as fast as I can manage, with a red crayon in one hand and a barely muffled yawn hidden behind the other. Tom's doing building crew things and Mike's opening the Winchester for breakfast, and Flo is quietly flipping through a picture book on the rec room couch, tapping to the jukebox music with her tiny Mary Jane shoes.
Today, she's the fucking angel-child. Squinting, I can almost see the goddamn halo over her head. Mack, though...
"Neil, no!" she shrills, and I bite back a wince, blinking away the hazy spots in front of my eyes and answering, "What is it?"
"Nooooo," she says again, and she looks furious, tiny two and a half year old face scrunched up and bright red. She reaches over to snatch the crayon from my hands and I look down and realize I'd been coloring in the sun on the coloring book page she'd shoved at me moments ago with a red crayon.
"Kiddo, it's a coloring book. You can color it in anyway you want," I tell her, but she obviously thinks I'm lying. Apparently this is the kind of shit that really winds up at two, going on three year old.
"We never should've taught you your colors," I mutter, reaching over to grab the yellow crayon so I can correct my mistake.
Turning to look over my shoulder at her sister, I say, "Can you believe this?" Flo just laughs, that high-pitched giggle of hers that's still cute even at seven in the morning, and I pretend like she knows exactly what I'm talking about. Or maybe she's just laughing at me.
It's gonna be a long fucking day.
[[Timed for ass-crack of dawn Wednesday morning. I know this is late for a lot of you, so LT/ST obviously welcome, since I'm going to be going to bed soon myself. Open to anyone, whether you want to laugh or help the guy out.]]