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Christmas rolls around with as much fanfare as a family with two children can muster. Satiated on a hearty breakfast and wonderful presents, they are deciding what to do.
Lock looks out the window for the fourth time since opening his presents with a wistful sigh. “I wish it was snowin’.”
“I know hun. Me too. Its so pretty, isn’t it?” Daddy agrees, stepping behind his son to massage between his tense shoulders. Slowly they lower from his ears and he sighs, pressed back into the touch.
“The prettiest. But I don’t like the cold.”
“Agreed. Just the fun snow and none of the cold sticky bits, hm?” He works out a knot with expertise, as Lock shares the same hunch as his older brother. It only takes a few seconds to find the root and worm it out to be loosened.
“Or the soggy clothes.” Lock says with his eyes shut.
“Wait, I have a solution!”
“Huh?” Lock whips his head around, one hand still clutching papa’s jumper.
Daddy grins beatifically. “What if I told you we can have non sticky, not cold snow?”
“For real life?!” Jawn cries, abandoning his new action figure.
“And it’s something you use all the time. C’mon, I saw it on Facebook. Worth a try, eh?”
“What is it?” Jawn asks, clamouring after daddy. Lock is shortly behind, and after tidying toys away from the main walkway, Mycroft is too, curious what silly idea his husband has concocted now.
He doesn’t make it far, only halfway up the stairs before they’re all making their way to the kitchen. A bucket is brought into the mix alongside a whisk and the hosepipe. Standing outside at the arse-end of December is not what Mycroft had pictured on Christmas day so he takes a seat at the backdoor with a front seat view to the increasing mayhem beyond the glass. A large squirt of bubble bath is poured into the bucket followed by the hosepipe, and soon bubbles are trickling over the edge, building higher. Greg adds more, then some Fairy liquid for good measure, and within minutes they have bubbles high enough to reach the top of the table. The kids even take turns whisking the water to hasten the process, making so much it covers a third of the garden.
Daddy sends them off to play as he makes more, an easy enough task, grinning at his husband. He’s definitely won some brownie points, and Mycroft is rather impressed. Indeed the ‘snow’ is neither cold or as wet as the real stuff, if a bit clingy to their coats. Most definitely clean, which is ideal considering their impromptu bubble fight. Handfuls are tossed in every direction, some splattered at the window, ruffled into Jawn’s hair to make hedgehog spikes, billowed around for Lock to make snow angels.
Mycroft is so absorbed watching the unbridled joy of his kids that he lets out a scream and stumbles back, tripping over his chair when a jet stream of water attacks the window. He flips off Greg who is on his knees laughing, the hosepipe trickling into the bucket waveringly as he shakes. Lock too is hysterically laughing, but Jawn slides the door open.
“Papa okay?”
Papa smooths out the frown between Jawn’s brows with a thumb. “Oh, honey, I’m just fine. Your daddy’s winding me up.”
“Naughty daddy.” Jawn says, smiling at the kiss pressed to his forehead.
“Indeed. Are you having fun?”
“Uhuh. But I can’t make a snowman.”
Daddy yells from the edge of the door, “I have a solution for that too! But only when you’re done outside.”
“I am a bit cold,” Jawn admits quietly. He glances at his brother, not wanting to abandon him amidst the fun. Lock flings one final explosion of bubbles into the air and trots after them.
“How do you make more snow?” He asks, waiting his turn to be stripped of his coat.
“This one is different. I’ll… snow you!” Greg throws his head back and cackles as Mycroft groans. His kids giggle sweetly at his response, stepping inside.
“Is a bit sticky daddy.” Lock says when he’s stripped of his outerwear and twirling a curl around his finger.
“Hm, nothing some water can’t fix.” Greg wipes their hands and hair down with a washcloth. He hangs it to dry over the sink lip and brings with him the tub of baking soda always in stock in their house.
Mycroft makes space for some more playtime at the table with the craft tablecloth, and under Greg’s direction, large baking trays and some plastic tubs. The three of them watch curiously as daddy runs upstairs, thumping in the bathroom before returning. Before they can begin, however, everyone pauses for a toilet break, with one soggy bottom needing a change imminently. Once Lock is dry and contently swinging his legs at the table, snack in hand and juice in the other, they can focus on the conditioner and shaving foam daddy brought with him.
“Are you ready to witness magic?”
His sons cry out their excitement, leaning forward to watch daddy pour out baking soda and conditioner into one tub, followed by more soda but the foam instead. He works them both with his hands, and just as he said, they magically turn into fluffy snow. Jawn plants pleading eyes on daddy, whereas Lock doesn’t bother waiting for permission and plunges his hands into the closest mixture. He squeals, bouncing in his seat at the pleasantly cold texture, almost exactly like real snow.
“Go ahead baby.” Daddy pushes the other tub to Jawn. Two very happy kids discover quickly that they can mold the snow into shapes, including snowmen! Lock uses a fingertip to draw patterns in his like a stick in grainy dirt.
“Well, this is certainly a hit.”
“Shame I can’t make enough for a snowball fight.” Greg remarks, dusting his hands off with a smug smile of pride at his ingenuity. Well, he has mumsnet to thank, but he’ll gladly take the credit via Mycroft’s glowing approval. Jawn suddenly looks up, gasps, and runs into the living room where the carnage of gift opening is contained. He returns with a couple new dolls, passing one to Lock.
They are able to have a miniature fight, balling up snow the size of their fingernails, balanced in the curved palms of their dolls. With a flick of the arm they can catapult the snowballs at each other without the force needed to send it careening across the kitchen. Whatever misses the tubs can be brushed up into one’s hand and tossed back in. Mycroft and Greg get a whole forty five minutes of playtime out of the pair before movements slow, one little boy almost rubs snow into his eye and the other has grown bored of the fight and began making his doll draw snow angels with her body.
“Nap time for us all, I think.” Mycroft announces. He sends the kids to the sink so daddy can clean them and their dolls as he tidies the small mess up off the table. He leaves the snow to be played with later then takes his sons by their hands up the stairs for a good long rest.
Whilst they sleep Greg and he can throw away wrapping paper, envelopes, packaging and anything else they discover, as well as arranging the new toys where they can clearly be seen and chosen. After that is a brew and some of the biscuits they worked hard on, their feet propped up on a footrest Mycroft finally agreed on for a well-deserved rest. An hour later everyone is up again and gathered for a small lunch to soothe hungry children, enough to satiate but not overfill before dinner.
Chatting over the gentle swell of music playing through the sound system Greg got for Christmas, the little family work together to create a snowy town. Greg works on forming the framework for the buildings and houses, gluing cardboard together both tall and small, wide and thin to create various shaped buildings. He then passes them along the line as though they are elves in a factory so Lock and Jawn can work on decorating. Jawn writes out signs, being slightly older, naming bakeries, a library, a pub for daddy, lots of shops and a chippy for Lock. His little brother, with a tongue of concentration poked between pearly teeth, works hard embellishing with swirls, dots, bursts of colour. He moves carefully around Jawn’s handwriting, avoiding the small drawings.
Between the chaos of felt tip pens and pencils, Mycroft sits peacefully crocheting the tiniest hat, scarf and gloves for the large snowman who will become the centrepiece of the town. He’ll send the kids out for two twigs, but the rock features will need to be substituted for some of their smaller craft beads. He glances at the clock occasionally, shocked at the large swathes of time passing away like the breeze sending eddying leaves into a dance by the backdoor. For such a simple activity he is pleased how absorbed his children are, and the benefit of their experimental snow means it will not melt. He imagines they will be swapping out the snowman for a hardy clay so that it can become a part of their annual decorations. He would certainly like to keep the beautiful little town.
Daddy even makes bunting and with a pack of twinkling lights (from a huge set he bought for no other reason than they looked pretty), he is able to fashion a pipe-cleaner Christmas tree with the fairy lights draped artfully around it. He even creates functioning lampposts, and with another pack he feeds lights through the hollow buildings to give the illusion of tiny people living inside. It really adds to the scene and has the boys gasping, slack-jawed as their world comes to life before their glittering, wide eyes.
Once Greg has finished the bulk of his task he shares his time between cooking dinner and watching the kids, jumping in a few times to offer help or add another set of lights. He works quietly, humming along to the music, providing such a lovely domestic scene that Mycroft finds himself looking at his husband more than his stitches, causing him to mess up and have to frog it. He can’t care when he’s so full of joy it seeps out of him into smiles and shared looks; two proud fathers spending a magical day with their sweet babies. Even Lock is so absorbed in the fun he doesn’t notice the various smells a few feet away. He’s too busy rolling up the fake snow into a body whilst Jawn rounds out the head of their snowman.
Later, they will eat and set aside the town crafted by their own hands, watch a movie snuggled on the couch, two babes curled into their dads, and it will be perfect.