Back Together

The Naughty List 🗒️

🎄⭐️🎅🏻 December 23rd, 2017 🎅🏻⭐️🎄

The twins are four years old, and it's their first time taking pictures with Santa!

Christmas Eve Eve edition! 💜✨💜✨

~ Y/N ~

"My baby loves, I've told you three times I'm waiting for you both in the bathroom for a bath. We're going to go see Santa, today!"

Squealing and smiling big to them, I try to hype them up even more.

They simply stare at me, as they played with their toys in the playroom. A new playroom Chris and I set up for them.

They used to just play in the living room but I read somewhere that children should have a safe place away from any screens where they can play.

So Chris emptied out this extra office upstairs for the twins.

Catie plays with her Barbie calmly brushing her doll's hair, while Nathan jumped around the room wearing his Spiderman mask and holding a nerf gun.

"Do...do you guys see Mommy standing here?"

I ask worriedly, perhaps they think they're seeing a ghost. Because that's how they're looking at me.

Catie and Nathan stop what they're doing again, and only after a few seconds they give me a very gentle nod.

"Oh." I laugh lightly, "because I thought maybe Mommy wasn't speaking loud enough."

Still no answer, they simply just look.

Nathan walks up to you, waving his hand down for you to lower your face. You bend down thinking he was going to tell you something important.

Or hell, maybe finally answer you.

But all he does is give you a sweet hug and a soft kiss on your cheek, "Mommy!" He grins big, ever since he was born he's been a Mommy's boy.

And Catie is a Daddy's girl.

"Oh, I love you, my sweet boy."

Nathan leaves your embrace to go reach for a mini figure. A small Woody from Toy Story.

"Chris!" You still look at them as you call your husband. Who just came back from taking Dodger out for some fresh air.

"What is it?"

"Come here please, sweetie." Crossing my arms, I smile at my kids still. As they continue to play. Maybe they learned too much Italian from Chris and his Nana the other day they forgot English.

My husband jogs up the stairs, his nose red from the Massachusetts winter. "Hey," he says sweetly, leaning in to kiss my lips softly.

Touching my lower back, he looks at our kids and then at me, "they're not listening to me. They listen to you."

Chris makes a face to me, and I sass him with just one wife look, he doesn't stand down nor is he scared—not in this moment anyway.

"I told you when they turned two to start putting your foot down...now look at what you created."

"But," you try to explain yourself, "but they're my babies."

Maybe you do treat the kids more lenient than other moms. You can't bring yourself to yell at them they have faces painted by the angels—two pieces of your heart.

"They're also little people who think they run the house, baby," putting his arm around me, I place my hand on his belly.

"Watch this," he whispers. "Alright, Catie and Nathan come here please." Chris's tone immediately changes and becomes more deeper. Firmer.