WATCHING BRAD
Part 218
"We're the Pooties, Daddy," Justin announced proudly. His wide grin widened even farther and his sparkling eyes sparkled even brighter. His pride-swollen chest swelled even more.
I couldn't contain my amusement and burst out in laughter. Brad could barely contain his own when he laughed, "You-hou're the wha-ha-hat?"
"The Pooties, Daddy Brad," an equally proud and beaming Jeremy replied. "See?"
* * * * *
The remainder of our visit with Warren and Bill was rather quiet and relatively uneventful, what with Warren being wiped out after our busy day gallivanting around the city. He was much stronger now but still tired easily, especially after a full day's exercise such as he had that day. Still, it was something of an eye-opener for both me and Brad. I wasn't going to include it because I thought it would bore you to tears, but Brad was convinced it should be included because it showed that we're human, too, and we aren't immune to screwing up from time to time. Neither of us knew how close we had come to messing up our dreams of getting our family into our new house before Christmas.
Anyway, Brad promised me he'd treat me to an extra-special night after ‘lights out' if I promised to write about it. Brad kept his promise. . . and so did I. Remember, though. If you fall asleep reading it, it's all Brad's fault.
As we had expected, there wasn't enough time for Open House visits in High Park after we finished scouring all the available listings in Cabbagetown, but Bill drove through it on our way back to the apartment in Mississauga. I had driven through there many times. When Lindsay was a baby, High Park was one of our favourite getaway places on a sunny Sunday afternoon, and then we would drive through the High Park residential areas and dream of one day owning a home like the ones we saw there. Little did I know at the time that those dreams would ultimately destroy my marriage.
I had been there many times, but this had been Brad's first time through. He squeezed my hand, which he had been holding since we climbed into the back seat of Bill's car, and admitted, "I could live here." But then he looked at me and smiled. "But only if this is where you and the kids are living." And then, seemingly quite content with his life and the world, he kissed me quickly and settled back with my hand still in his to enjoy the rest of the ride through High Park and back to the apartment in Mississauga.
Dinner that evening was a delicious lasagna which Bill and Warren had prepared Friday evening while we were at the concert and stored in the refrigerator. It was a simple matter of heating up the oven and popping the foil-covered baking dish into it when the little red light went out and waiting for it to bake.
As we waited, Warren tossed his question across the table at me and Brad: "Have you started shopping for the house yet?"
"Well," I answered with a ‘well, d'uh' smile, "we kinda thought we'd wait until there were at least a few walls and maybe a roof before we go scouting for furniture, Warren."
Warren leaned across the table and clamped his hand over my forearm. "Oh, Teddy," he said, "I'm not talking furniture." He pulled his hand away and sat back in his chair again. "No. I'm talking about things for the house itself, like windows and shingles, kitchen cabinets and floors. Tiles. Are you going to use ceramic tiles in the bathrooms? Tumbled marble for the backs plash? Travertine? Slate? Are you going to use hardwood floors or carpet in the lounge? What about bamboo or cork? And your appliances. You have to know what size you want so you can order cupboards and counters to fit them. Fireplace surrounds. Bathroom units. The front door. The stones around the outside. Do you want real or cultured stone? What style? You really need to get a handle on this, Teddy. You have to figure it all out as soon as you can so it's ready for when your contractor needs it."
I glanced at Brad and he glanced at me. His eyebrows raised in an ‘I hadn't thought of that' way. Neither had I for that matter. We looked back at Warren. "I'm surprised Grant didn't mention this before," I told him. "All he did was ask us to pick out a style of windows so he could order them."
"Well, maybe he thinks you already know about it and you're already getting things lined up by now. I mean, your father's a plumber and Bradley's dad is a carpenter, right? It's not like you're new to construction or anything."
"Yeah, we are," I told him. "Every house I've lived in was already broken in. All I had to do was move in and redecorate a bit."
"The only house I ever moved into was Ted's," Brad said. "To be honest, we haven't even given a thought what we want it to look like, Warren. I guess we thought we still had oodles of time before it came to that. Actually, Pops, I'm surprised our dads didn't say something to us about it."
"They probably thought
Grant was handling it, Tiger. That's his job, I suppose."
"Either way, Warren's right, guys," Bill interrupted politely. "You shouldn't put this off for very long. I've seen house constructions and renovations go way over schedule and budget just because someone hadn't decided what type of bathroom faucets to buy or what style and colour of carpet to put in their living and bedrooms. Every day the tradesmen have to sit around waiting for you to make a decision on something can cost you thousands of dollars. Make some time to talk to. . . what was his name? Grant? Have him help you make up a list of items and get him to prioritise them for you, and then get our and start searching for them. And don't forget that custom items take a lot longer than off-the-shelf things. The longer you leave it, the longer it will take to get you into your home."
Our search began sooner than I expected. After a delicious lasagna dinner, Brad, still seated at the table with us, let out an enormous belch which sent the three of us into wild peals of laughter. It sent Brad into an embarrassed, blushing, chipped-tooth grin as he rubbed his swollen belly and apologised for having overindulged by gorging himself on a second helping of the tasty noodles and tomato sauce.
"In many cultures," Warren explained through his guffaws, "belches of that magnitude are the supreme compliments to the chef." And then Warren looked at me. "Is he always this cute when he blushes?" Which, of course, made Brad blush even more.
Later, we played a few rounds of Euchre, swapping partners until everyone had played with and against everyone else, before turning in relatively early. It had been a long and busy day for Warren and he needed his rest.
Despite Warren's repeated reminder to ‘be loud if we couldn't be good', Brad and I played quietly in our room after retiring, not quite ready to go to sleep. Brad entertained me with his delightful talents which had brought us together in the first place as I entertained myself as I watched him. We then grabbed a quick and quiet shower before cuddling up together in the darkened room, wrapped in each other's arms. The twinkling lights and muffled sounds of the city around us, still reaching us through the bedroom window from the street far below, lulled us into a very peaceful and restful sleep.
We slept in that Sunday morning in October. That is to say we didn't wake up until almost eight-thirty. For us, that constitutes sleeping in. After grabbing another quick shower together in the guest bathroom, we dressed for the day and met Warren at the dining table. An open laptop sat on the table in front of him and the enchanting smell of freshly-brewed coffee flooded the room. Bill was at the kitchen counter preparing breakfast. Brad went to help him.
"Teddy," Warren said, patting his palm on the seat of the chair to his right. "Viens! Viens! Sit here!" He patted the seat again and I settled onto the chair beside him a moment later. "Bill and I have begun a list for you. I think we've got the outside done." He pointed to the laptop screen. "See? We've got the roof shingles and the windows, the. . ."
"We've already picked out the windows we want," I butted in.
"Ah, oui," Warren exclaimed as he set about eliminating ‘windows' from his list. "Ma faute. Ma faute. Okay. . . . Et bien, c'est finis." With a satisfied click of the mouse button, Warren continued: "Okay. We've got the shingles, the stone siding, garage doors, the front door, the portico columns, the driveway and walkway and. . ."
"Driveway and walk?" I interrupted with my question.
"Yes, Teddy. They will probably be low on the priority list, but you'll have to decide what kind of paving you want. Pavers. Cobbles. Asphalt. Concrete. See what I mean? We're just making a list of all the decisions you're going to have to make during the construction. Here," Warren concluded as he pushed a small notepad and a pen toward me. "Make a quick sketch of the floor plans so we can go through your house room by room and figure out what you will need to shop for."
I made the sketch and Warren and I began our task one room at a time. Our task was made easier after breakfast when we were joined by Bill and Brad. By the time we had to get ready for our Thanksgiving dinner at the restaurant where Bill had made reservations for us, we were finished with the list and Warren had printed it out for us.
The upstairs had been quite easy since the master bedroom and master bathroom. Lindsay's bedroom, and the twins' bedroom were all being designed for us. That left only the flooring for the guestroom and the hallway. We decided to use the same basic design for both the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms, so tiles and vanities, fixtures and faucets and showerheads would all be duplicated.
Downstairs, we had the flooring for the foyer and all the rooms as well as the staircase.
"The staircase?" I was quite surprised that Warren had included that in the list.
"Of course, Teddy. The treads and the rails, the balusters and newel posts. Don't you know anything about building a house?"
"Apparently not," I smirked. It was clear the Warren was enjoying himself.
"Fear not, my royal subjects," Warren continued with his nose high in the air. With a regal sweep of his right arm, he added, "Queen Warren the First is here to educate you and guide you through your travails." He finished by casting a mischievous wink at Brad, who was sitting beside Bill across the table from us.
Brad's lips curled up ever-so-slightly on one side and he bowed his head until his chin rested upon is chest. "Yes, Your High Ass," he said softly.
Warren's smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed in deep concentration as he stared at Brad, whose chin still rested on the top of his chest and his eyes lifted to peep at Warren from beneath his own brows. My friend's face slowly turned toward me and his eyes met mine. With a jerk of his head toward my Tiger, he said, "Did he just say what I think he said?"
"If you think he said, ‘yes, Your High Ass', I'd say you were right."
Warren nodded once. "Yup. That's what I thought he said." His gaze returned to Brad, who was still peeping out from beneath his golden brows and waiting patiently. I could see the smile in his eyes. "Good one," Warren said as his face relaxed into blissful contentment.
Brad's face broke into a wide, lips-pressed smile before his lips pursed and lightly smacked in a happy and love-felt kiss.
Warren looked back at me. "Damn. He's cute, isn't he?"
I could not argue that point with Warren or anyone else for that matter.
* * * * *
Well, there you have it. If you have managed to stay awake this long, the boring part is over. It gets more exciting from here on. Unless, of course, you're on Brad's side and you found it just as exciting as he insisted it would be. Either way, it's a bit too late, isn't it?
* * * * *
"I really like Bill's idea of the cook top and the double oven and warming drawer instead of buying a full range," Brad commented as we headed home through the holiday traffic. "The ovens would come in really handy, especially when we're doing big dinners for everyone like at Christmas or when we have company or something. I know Nathan would
love something like that. And the dishwasher under the island? That's brilliant."
"And I liked the idea of extending the island to make a breakfast bar," I added. "The kids can sit there and play or colour or do homework as they watch us cook, and when we have company, the person who's cooking won't feel left out. The others can sit right there and keep him company."
"For sure."
"You know, Tiger," I said as I thought about Warren's rather extensive list, "we've certainly got our work cut out for us, haven't we? So much shopping to do and decisions to make."
"Yeah, but I'm really looking forward to it. I think it's going to be a whole lot of fun making the new house our home."
"Speaking of ‘home', maybe you should phone Nathan and tell him we're on our way."
"Oh, yeah. Right," he said. "Good idea." Brad retrieved his cell phone from his shirt pocket. Within seconds, Nathan's ‘hello' came through the speakerphone. "Hi, Nathan. It's us," Brad replied cheerfully.
"Oh, hi, Brad. Have a good weekend?"
"Great. What about you guys?"
"We're a bit tired, but we've had a lot of fun," Nathan's voice, sounding decidedly fatigued, came through the speaker. "Our Thanksgiving dinner plans fizzled out, though. Barry was called in early this morning to cover a shift for somebody who decided he wanted a long weekend. We all went out to see him off when his partner-du-jour came to pick him up in the cruiser. A rookie barely out of OPC. His name is. . ."
"What's the OPC?" Brad interrupted curiously.
"Ontario Police College," Nathan replied without hesitation. "Anyway, his name is Mateo, but he goes by Matt, and he's as cute as a button. Curly black hair, swarthy complexion, dark eyes, and the deepest, cutest dimples in his cheeks. Oh, and he's got a butt that would give Brad's butt a run for its money."
I looked quickly at Brad and shook my head as I shook my head and mouthed the words, "Not a chance!" Brad actually blushed.
"Barry told me he's very, very straight," Nathan continued, "but he's very gay-friendly and they've been getting along so well since Matt's first day on the force. Apparently Matt has even mentioned to Barry that he wouldn't mind becoming his partner full-time if the chance ever arises. Apparently Matt can't stand the partner he's been saddled with. He calls him a ‘know-it-all asshole', and Barry agrees with him wholeheartedly. The guy is bossy and loud and overbearing, and he takes all the credit for everything they do as a team. Anyway, it was just me and the boys for Thanksgiving dinner today. They wanted to eat in their tent but I told them they had to eat at the table with me."
"Haven't you taken that tent down yet?" I asked.
"Heck, no," he laughed. "They're having too much fun with it, Ted. In fact, that's where they're playing right this moment. I think they're pretending to be on a space ship to some other planet or something. At least they've been making. . . Uh oh. I think they've. . . Yes, they've just landed. They're wearing their beach towel space suits with their backpack air tanks and their Tupperware helmets. They're scrambling across the room on their hands and knees toward my bedroom."
As if on cue, we heard Justin's shrill voice call out, "Don't let the space bugs get you, Jeremy!"
To which Jeremy replied, "Use your zapper, Justin! My batteries are dead!"
"They've got zappers?" I asked with an amused tone in my voice.
"Soup ladles," Nathan explained.
"Oh, of course," I said, smiling to myself. "What else would they use?"
"So, they're really enjoying that tent then, eh?" Brad asked.
"Indeed they are, Brad. Let's see. So far it's been a canoe or some sort of raft - I'm not sure which. Whatever it was, they needed my wooden spoons to paddle it. It's been the pirate ship from that movie with Johnny Depp, at least until they wanted to shoot the contents of my cutlery drawer out of their empty salad dressing jar cannon. It's been a police station and a fire truck, a submarine, and a deep, dark cave where they found friendly dragons living. It's been a toboggan, and, I think, either a roller coaster or a monster truck that they drove around squishing cars. Maybe both. It was hard to tell. I don't ever remember having an imagination like theirs, let alone a childhood like that. I was far too busy learning how to bake cookies and things from my mother."
"You have to remember, Nathan," I said, "they spent almost five years of their life having to entertain each other. Their imaginations were just about all they had besides each other."
There was a moment's pause before Nathan spoke: "Why had I forgotten that? To me, it's like they've been with you forever. I keep forgetting what their lives must have been like before you found them."
"Well, from your point of view they
have been with me forever, Nathan," I reminded him. "Still, it's kinda funny. I can't remember what my life was like before they found
me."
I had one of those ‘zone-out' moments then. You know the ones I mean - when you're driving along a very familiar highway and your brain sort of goes on autopilot and you drive your car without even thinking about it and your brain switches over to a bit of daydreaming for a short while. That's what happened to me that day.
I vaguely remember hearing voices coming from nearby, but I have no idea what they were saying. My mind was too busy replaying a few memories in the Cineplex of my brain, moving swiftly from one memory theatre to the next in the blink of an eye. The first memory was of me standing on one side of a two-way mirror and my yet-to-be sons sitting on the floor in the next room and playing with toy Transformers on the other side of the glass. I saw Justin and Jeremy looking up at me when they weren't even supposed to be able to see me and returning my wave and my smile when I waved and smiled at them. I saw Justin silently showing me how to turn his toy car into a man and back into a car as I knelt on the floor beside him and asked for his help. I choked up a bit when Justin and Jeremy stood in front of me in my home and I heard Justin ask, "Are you our new daddy?" - the first-ever words anyone alive had probably ever heard him speak. I swallowed a huge, emotional lump in my throat which grew there as I saw myself sitting in court with two little boys sitting anxiously in my lap, each held firmly in one arm, and staring up at the judge sitting behind his bench as he pronounced them my sons. I saw. . .
"Hey! Pops! Are you in there?"
Brad's voice snapped me to awareness several exits beyond the last exit underpass I could remember passing under. "Huh?" I said stupidly as I glanced at him. He sat there, grinning his wide, chipped-tooth grin. He was still holding his cell phone in his right hand while his left hand, which had been shaking my leg, stopped shaking it and remained where it was, digging is fingers into my thigh to make sure I stayed with him.
"Did you hear what Nathan said?"
"No," I replied. "Sorry. I was. . ." I let my voice trail off into silence. I wasn't at all certain he would have believed where I had been.
"He said if we're willing to get a head start on Thanksgiving leftovers," Brad explained, "he'll bring over the stuff to make hot turkey sandwiches for supper tonight."
"Oh. Don't go to any trouble, Nathan," I said.
"No trouble at all, Ted. There's more here than Barry and I can eat," Nathan assured us. "I'm happy to do it. We're supposed to pick him up at four, but he phoned and said he has a little surprise, so I'm not sure what time we'll be there."
"No problems," I told him. "We'll be there waiting."
With dinner plans made and not much else to do between the time we arrived home and the time our sons and their godfathers would arrive, Brad and I changed when we got home and added the dirty clothes from our suitcases and added them to the canvas bag of laundry before paying a visit to Brad's parents for a chat, a cup of coffee, and to make our laundry sparkling clean and smelling sunshine fresh.
As we sat around the table munching Bernice's homemade peanut butter cookies and sipping fresh, hot coffee, we asked John if he thought Grant could get us in the house before Christmas. "If Grant says he can do it, you can bet your ass he'll bust his butt to git ‘er done." Bernice cringed at that but said nothing. "You've got to remember, though, Ted, that there are some things which are going to be beyond his control. There always are in jobs like this. But, if he can get the house weatherproofed before the snow sets in, I believe he should be able to do it."
"He said he would have at least the ground floor done for us, Dad," Brad said. "That seems like a bit of a stretch to me, though."
"I've known Grant for a long time, Son," John said as he reached across the table and placed his hand over his son's hand. "He doesn't make his predictions lightly. I know there isn't much there to make you think there'll be a house there in a few months, but things will start moving a lot faster next week. Before you know it, the floors will be down and the walls will be up and the interior framing will be done. Then, when they start sealing up the main floor, everything will start all over again on the second floor. Before you know it, the roof will be up and shingled and they'll be well on their way. Oh, have you picked out your windows and doors yet?"
"Just the windows," both Brad and I replied at the same time. We looked at each other, smiling and sharing a rare ‘Justin and Jeremy' moment. I think that was the first time we spoke in unison like that.
"Then pick out your doors this week," John continued. "And your roof shingles, too, so Grant can get them ordered if he has to. He'll tell you what size and type of doors to order and he'll help you pick out the best style and colour of shingles for you to get the Tudor look you're going for."
"I'll get Mom to help again," I said. "She already helped us pick out the windows. She recommended black framed double-glazing with lead diamond mullions for the bay window and square mullions for the kids' bedrooms. The lead mullions make them a bit expensive - especially the bay windows - but Brad and I liked the look and the contrast between the upper and lower windows and thought they were worth the extra expense."
"We going for cheaper, regular windows on the sides and back," Brad added, "to make up for them."
"Wise decision, Bradley," Bernice concluded. "Every penny counts when you're counting them."
* * * * *
Brad sat at the right side of the sofa bed in the Winnebago, his opened laptop resting on his thighs, quietly doing his online lessons. I lay on the sofa bed, reading some fictional novel the title of which escapes me at the moment, and listening to a Mozart horn concerto which played quietly in the background. My feet faced the dining table and my head rested on Brad's lap as well. His crotch, pushed into a delightful and even larger denim-covered mound than usual by his strong and meaty thighs which were pressed together, was my cushy headrest. His right arm lay over my upper chest as his fingers deftly tapped at the keys of his computer and worked the built-in mouse.
I could easily and contentedly have fallen asleep there, but I didn't.
The clock was approaching five-thirty when Brad shifted his leg, nudging me out of the depths of the novel and into the camper once again. "They're here, Pops," he said excitedly. That was followed immediately by two beeps of a car horn. I hadn't even heard the car pull into the driveway.
I swung my legs off the daybed and stood up as Brad set his laptop on the sofa and followed me out the door. Justin and Jeremy were already jumping down from the back seat of Nathan's car as we rounded the back of the Winnebago. Nathan held the door open for them. Barry, still dressed in most of his uniform, walked around to the back of the car carrying both of the twins' backpacks in one hand.
Justin and Jeremy's ecstatic grins beamed at us, but there was another gleam on their chests and, as they ran across the lawn toward us, I saw a black, stylised, wedge-shaped badge with the silver text and silver-threaded outline. A red maple leaf acted as a background to a set of golden scales of justice. The badge was apparently pinned to the left lapel of each of the light jackets they wore. Brad and I both dropped to one knee and braced ourselves in time to catch them as they jumped into our arms. After the requisite hugs and kisses, we rose to our feet as Barry helped Nathan retrieve a few boxes from the trunk of the car. I assumed the boxes contained our leftover evening meal.
With his right arm secured around my neck, Justin leaned back a bit and puffed out his chest at me, displaying the badge. Below the maple leaf were the silver-embroidered words: "Honourary Deputy".
"We're the Pooties, Daddy," Justin announced proudly.
I couldn't stop myself and burst out laughing. Brad did a bit better than I and managed to laugh and speak at the same time: "You-hou're the wha-ha-hat?"
"The Pooties, Daddy Brad," Jeremy replied as he pointed to the shiny badge on his little chest. "See?" It was then that I noticed that both his and Justin's fingertips looked suspiciously. . . shall I say ‘dirty'?
Brad and I were still laughing as we looked at each other. "We'll sort them out on the pronunciation later," I winked, and he readily agreed.
Things came at us fast and furiously after that as we returned to the camper and settled ourselves in - so fast and furiously, in fact, that it was virtually impossible for me and Brad and Barry and Nathan to remember what was said without trying to figure out which one said it.
"Uncle Nathan took us to the police station to get Uncle Barry!"
"Uncle Barry came in his police car!"
"He did the wee-ooo wee-ooo wee-ooo!"
"And he made all the lights on the police car go. . ." (Four raised hands opened and closed rapidly making flashing lights motions.)
"Matt let me wear his policeman hat!"
"Uncle Barry gave me
his hat!"
"Uncle Nathan took lots of pictures!"
"They stuck our fingers in a black sponge!"
"We pushed our hands on a paper and left our fingers there!"
"Uncle Nathan has them."
"A policeman put big rings with a chain on our arms!"
"They were too big. They fell off!"
"Everybody laughed!"
"We did, too!"
"He let us put them on Uncle Nathan and Uncle Barry instead!"
"He said he lost the key!"
"But he was just pretending!"
"They made us laugh a lot!"
"A man said he was going to take pictures of our mugs!"
"But he gave us a thing with our names on it!"
"We had to hold it up like this!" (Four hands mimicked holding an ID board.)
"Uncle Nathan told us not to smile!"
"But we smiled!"
"Uncle Barry told us we broke the law!"
"He put us in jail!"
"He locked the big steel door with a big steel key!"
"We weren't scared! We could see him through the bars!"
"It was fun!"
"A nice lady policeman brought us some doughnuts and juice!"
"She gave them to us through the bars!"
"The doughnuts were good!"
"But they were sticky!"
"Uncle Barry unlocked the door and let us out again!"
"A big man told us to put our hands on a black book!"
"He made us promise to be good boys!"
"We promised we would be good!"
"He gave us these!" And with that, they both pointed to their prized Honourary Deputy badges. Their happy smiles were worth the barrage of words.
There was a lot more to their story, and it continued inside the Winnebago as Nathan somehow managed to prepare a delicious and filling dinner on the tiny propane stove there. On and on the boys went, repeating portions of their stories as long as we appeared to be listening to them. They paused only when dinner had been served and their mouths were stuffed with turkey and apple and walnut stuffing.
It was during one of those lulls when they were too busy using their mouths for eating rather than talking that I commented on Nathan's wearied condition. He appeared to be beyond complete exhaustion. Puffy bags of loose skin hung under his droopy eyelids and the whites of his eyes reminded me of the morning after some of the parties I attended back in my university days.
"We told you they could wear you out," I smiled understandingly at him.
"That isn't from trying to keep up with them, Ted," Barry said as he cut a bite-sized piece from his stuffed, baked potato and dipped it into the gravy on his plate. "He hasn't been asleep since Friday night." He popped the potato into his mouth and began chewing.
"What!?" I remarked with unintended surprised and reproach.
"He stayed awake both nights," Barry continued after he quickly swallowed his bit of potato, "sitting up on the sofa beside the tent in case. . ." He paused, glancing down knowingly at Jeremy who knelt on the bench between himself and Brad and was happily pushing Nathan's mixed vegetables onto his fork with his left thumb. "You know."
I looked past Justin toward Nathan who sat on the bench to my left near the wall. I understood immediately why he had stayed awake for two nights. He had a definite ‘please don't be angry with me' look on his face. "I wanted to be ready," he explained quietly, "in case. . . well, in case they needed me. I couldn't have faced you and Brad if they had needed me and I wasn't there for them."
I looked at Brad and Brad looked at me. "I think we made the right choice, Pops," he said with a gentle smile.
I knew he was talking about our choice of Nathan and Barry as godfathers to our sons. "So do I, Brad," I replied. "So do I."
Nathan wanted to stay and help us clean up and wash the dishes, but we insisted that he and Barry go home and get some much-needed rest. Barry had already told us that he would be doing another shift with Mateo the next morning.
Brad and I set about washing the dishes as Justin and Jeremy knelt on the bench on either side of the table, happily sharing a second piece of Nathan's home-made pumpkin pie with a large dollop of home-made whipped cream on top.
Later, after we'd returned to Winnie following their baths in the Hayes home, Brad and I were sitting side-by-side on the sofa bed with Justin and Jeremy sitting sideways in our laps and facing each other. Their prized badges were now pinned to the lapels of their pyjama tops. They had pretty-much talked themselves out and fatigue was quickly overwhelming them. The Sandman was standing close by, ready and waiting to complete his little chore of coaxing our sons into slumber.
Brad ran his index finger over Jeremy's badge and said, "Well, Pooty Jeremy, are we still allowed to hug and kiss you or do you want us to salute you from now on?"
"Like this?" Jeremy asked as he lifted his tiny hand and touched the backs of his fingertips to his forehead.
"Yes," said Brad with a smile. "Do you want us to salute you from now on?"
Justin looked at my raised hand then glanced briefly at his brother before turning his gaze back to me and shaking his head back and forth. "We don't want those," he said.
"Can we still have the hugs and kisses?" Jeremy asked with sleepy finality.
And, on that Thanksgiving weekend in October, our first Thanksgiving with them, both Brad and I were thankful enough to be blessed with Justin and Jeremy to give them all the hugs and kisses they could handle, and they got a lot of them before they fell asleep in our arms.
To Be Continued
