Cubby has an afro. He’s got to be one of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen.
“Dat’s Cold Steel,” he says in a raspy voice, pointing at Jack.
“Yeah, he is,” I agree.
“An’ dat’s Max--Maximum. An’ dat’s--” He looks at Ace for a long moment, frowning thoughtfully.
“Dragon,” Ace provides.
“You don’t look like Dragon,” Cubby says, only to jump three feet in the air as Ace creates that dragon head illusion he uses for public shows. The poor four year old lands on my head and is still trying to climb me like a tree.
“Sorry, I won’t do it again, I swear--” Ace says, looking a bit panicked.
“Cubby,” I say, although my voice is muffled because his stomach is on my face, “it’s okay, buddy, it’s just an illusion. Ace, turn into a ninja turtle,” I tell him. I feel Cubby twist, turning slowly to look at Ace again.
“Mikey!” he says excitedly. I pull him off of my head now that he’s not clinging so hard, and put him down on the floor.
“Is that better?” Ace asks, still looking like Mikey. He blinks as the little boy throws himself at him, hugging him tightly.
“Cubby loves the turtles,” I say with a shrug. “He’s also a Mega fan, but we don’t mention that in public.”
“Yeah, I know those feels,” Jack says.
“You’re a Mega fan?” Max asks him in an incredulous tone.
“Well… not fan so much, but he IS my uncle, you know?” Jack says with a shrug. “He’s not that bad when he’s around my parents--you can’t exactly act like a prat with them right there.”
“Prat,” Ace repeats, snickering. “Who uses the word ‘prat’ in America?”
There’s a thoughtful expression on Max’s face. “I think I like it,” he says. “I’m going to start using that!”
“It was mine first!” Jack protests.
“You look like a prat when you say it--I can actually pull it off.”
A metal ball speeds across the room, only to get grabbed by Max and thrown back. “Hey, stop it, guys, you might hit Cubby,” Ace complains, bringing up his hands to cover the little boy’s head.
“That prat started it,” Jack mutters guiltily.
“You’re the prat,” Max says.
“Prat,” Cubby says cheerfully, pulling away from Ace to get in the middle of the argument. I think he thinks it’s a game. “You da prat!”
“Now you’ve got Cubby saying it,” I groan, feeling a headache come on. “His dad’s going to kill us.”
“Jack started it!” Max says cheerfully, completely passing the blame. Those two never have liked each other that much.
Before I can reply the door of the RV opens and we all turn and stare as Panther steps in. The problem is that Cubby is still dancing in the middle of the room, pointing at everything in sight and going, “Prat! Prat!” He used to be such a quiet three-year-old… turning four changed him.
“I see you’re increasing my son’s vocabulary already,” Panther drawls, staring pointedly at Ace--who still looks like Mikey, “and bringing in pop culture references.”
“I accidentally scared him with my Dragon head,” Ace admits, “I was making it up to him.”
“Prat, Papa! Prat!” Cubby says gleefully, completely not picking up on the vibe of the room. He’s too excited by his new word. Remind me to prank Jack for that one later, would you? Maybe I’ll ask Justin what he HASN’T done yet.
“Yes, Cubby, I know,” Panther says with a hint of hidden amusement. It took me months of going over for dinner to pick up on that expression. He walks over, picking the boy up and carrying him to a booster chair that comes up from the floor when he pushes a button. It looks as if it were specifically designed for the boy. There’s even a tablet on a mechanical arm that comes up when he’s buckled in. Cubby starts tapping on the screen, completely distracted. “Now, everyone buckle in--meeting Superior took a small bite out of our time.”
“Sorry about
“Dat’s Cold Steel,” he says in a raspy voice, pointing at Jack.
“Yeah, he is,” I agree.
“An’ dat’s Max--Maximum. An’ dat’s--” He looks at Ace for a long moment, frowning thoughtfully.
“Dragon,” Ace provides.
“You don’t look like Dragon,” Cubby says, only to jump three feet in the air as Ace creates that dragon head illusion he uses for public shows. The poor four year old lands on my head and is still trying to climb me like a tree.
“Sorry, I won’t do it again, I swear--” Ace says, looking a bit panicked.
“Cubby,” I say, although my voice is muffled because his stomach is on my face, “it’s okay, buddy, it’s just an illusion. Ace, turn into a ninja turtle,” I tell him. I feel Cubby twist, turning slowly to look at Ace again.
“Mikey!” he says excitedly. I pull him off of my head now that he’s not clinging so hard, and put him down on the floor.
“Is that better?” Ace asks, still looking like Mikey. He blinks as the little boy throws himself at him, hugging him tightly.
“Cubby loves the turtles,” I say with a shrug. “He’s also a Mega fan, but we don’t mention that in public.”
“Yeah, I know those feels,” Jack says.
“You’re a Mega fan?” Max asks him in an incredulous tone.
“Well… not fan so much, but he IS my uncle, you know?” Jack says with a shrug. “He’s not that bad when he’s around my parents--you can’t exactly act like a prat with them right there.”
“Prat,” Ace repeats, snickering. “Who uses the word ‘prat’ in America?”
There’s a thoughtful expression on Max’s face. “I think I like it,” he says. “I’m going to start using that!”
“It was mine first!” Jack protests.
“You look like a prat when you say it--I can actually pull it off.”
A metal ball speeds across the room, only to get grabbed by Max and thrown back. “Hey, stop it, guys, you might hit Cubby,” Ace complains, bringing up his hands to cover the little boy’s head.
“That prat started it,” Jack mutters guiltily.
“You’re the prat,” Max says.
“Prat,” Cubby says cheerfully, pulling away from Ace to get in the middle of the argument. I think he thinks it’s a game. “You da prat!”
“Now you’ve got Cubby saying it,” I groan, feeling a headache come on. “His dad’s going to kill us.”
“Jack started it!” Max says cheerfully, completely passing the blame. Those two never have liked each other that much.
Before I can reply the door of the RV opens and we all turn and stare as Panther steps in. The problem is that Cubby is still dancing in the middle of the room, pointing at everything in sight and going, “Prat! Prat!” He used to be such a quiet three-year-old… turning four changed him.
“I see you’re increasing my son’s vocabulary already,” Panther drawls, staring pointedly at Ace--who still looks like Mikey, “and bringing in pop culture references.”
“I accidentally scared him with my Dragon head,” Ace admits, “I was making it up to him.”
“Prat, Papa! Prat!” Cubby says gleefully, completely not picking up on the vibe of the room. He’s too excited by his new word. Remind me to prank Jack for that one later, would you? Maybe I’ll ask Justin what he HASN’T done yet.
“Yes, Cubby, I know,” Panther says with a hint of hidden amusement. It took me months of going over for dinner to pick up on that expression. He walks over, picking the boy up and carrying him to a booster chair that comes up from the floor when he pushes a button. It looks as if it were specifically designed for the boy. There’s even a tablet on a mechanical arm that comes up when he’s buckled in. Cubby starts tapping on the screen, completely distracted. “Now, everyone buckle in--meeting Superior took a small bite out of our time.”
“Sorry about
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