While Lauren and Berta went to the grocery store, I figured now was as good a time as any to spend some quality time with the two smallest of the family.  Now at three years old, they walk, talk and run around so much.  When they were smaller, in a way, I looked forward to days like this.  This is the time in their lives when they start to express their individualism, when they begin creating their very own personality quirks.

A lot of parents get sad and sometimes wish their children stayed infants for the rest of their lives.  While I too, sometimes long for the days when they’d cry in the middle of the night and daddy was there to soothe them back to sleep, these days are pretty awesome too.

‘Caty’ became ‘Livvy’ very recently.  At her request, naturally.  Born Caitlyn Olivia, I assumed we’d call her Caty for the rest of her life.  She had other ideas.  I don’t know if she heard it on TV or where she heard it, but she insisted her name was Livvy.  So Livvy it is.

Sat upon a chair far too small for me, and my arm still in a sling from the Revelry, Livvy spent her afternoon dressing daddy up and painting his nails.  Talon didn’t get away scot free.  He too was dressed up and had his nails done because Her Majesty, The Queen, insisted we were having a tea party.

”Daddy you look pwetty,” Livvy exclaimed excitedly.

”I do!?” I asked, looking at my freshly painted nails.

”Yeah,” she laughed.

”I dunno, T.J., what do you think?” I said to my three year old son.

”Boys don't be pwetty,” Talon replied.  ”They be handsome.”

”Hey! Boys can be pretty!” I protested.  ”You're pretty too.”

”No,” Talon argued.  ”I handsome.”

”Okay fair,” I relented.

While I knew I looked absolutely ridiculous in a dress with my nails painted, I felt like a million bucks.  There's nothing in this world that makes me happier than pleasing these children.  Part of me is saddened over the fact that they're growing up quickly.  Though a much larger part of me relishes in the thought of raising these little shits.

”Where Fankie?” Livvy asked.

”Hims outside,” I replied regrettably in baby talk, something I'm trying hard to break myself of.

“SLAM!” screamed the screen door.

”Mommmm!?”

”I stand corrected,” I said to Livvy before giving her a peck on her cheek.  ”She's not here!” I called back to the teenage boy wonder.

”Where'd she go?” Frankie says as he pops his head into the doorway of the playroom where me and the twins are about to have that famous Livvy Duke tea party.

”Oh… my god…” he said while simultaneously trying to contain his laughter and pulling his cell from his pocket.

”Don’t you dare…”

And there goes the camera shutter.

”How could you!?” I asked, feigning betrayal.

”Dat bad, Fankie,” T.J. chimed in.

”You're right, Talon,” I said to the toddler before returning my attention to the Prince of Shitheadedness.  ”That's bad, Fankie.”

”What the actual eff are you doing?” he giggled.

”Well when your three year old daughter says ‘hey daddy let's have a tea party,’ then daddy has a tea party,” I explained.

”Okay but does that really include painting your nails and wearing one of mom's dresses?”

”Yes actually,” I replied.  ”Livvy insisted. And when Livvy says jump, daddy asks how high?”

Frankie laughed and shook his head in response.  ”I'm not ever having kids.”

”Yes you will,” I argued.

”How do you know?”

”Because at some point in the next few years you're gonna figure out just how fun it is trying to have them, which will break me and your mother's heart so keep everything in your pants until your mom tells you otherwise,” I joked.

”When you have a daughter one day and she wants to dress you up in pretty clothes and paint your nails for a tea party, then that's exactly what you'll do.”

”Why do you think that?”

”Joking aside… because that's what daddy's do for their little girls,” I began to explain.  ”See there will come a day when she hates the very sight of me, when she’ll wish I wasn’t her dad, and she’ll talk shit to all her little friends about how much of a butt her dad is.  So… we cherish the times when they’re young.  Too young to know how much of an imbecile you really are.  So when Livvy wants me to do things that don't hurt anyone, then that’s what I do.

“Because she’s my little girl and making her happy is of the utmost importance.”

He shook his head again and began to leave the playroom.

”Fankie sit,” Livvy insisted.

”Yeah Fankie… sit…” I smiled at the boy.

”I can't right now Livvy, I gotta…”

”Sit,” Livvy insisted again.

”Her Highness has spoken,” I reminded him.

Reluctantly, Frankie sat at the small child sized table.  Livvy shakes her bottles of nail polish.

”Wed?” she asked him.  ”Or lellow?”

”Son of a …,”

”Biscuit!” I quickly finished his sentence.

Frankie sighed.  Despite his hesitation, Frankie sat his hand palm down in front of his little sister.  ”Can I have both?” he asked.

”Otay,” she answered.

As Livvy started to paint his fingernails, I leaned over toward him.  ”It’s also what awesome big brother's do,” I said with a tussle of his hair.

He's a teenage boy.  He's growing and learning.  Despite everything he's been through in his 13 years, he's a kind, warm, loving and giving young man.  I'd like to think that I at least have something to do with that.

In spite of his initial reluctance, Frankie helped her paint his nails.  I know it feels awkward for a teenager to let their guard down.  I teach my sons to discard the toxic male traits of perceived manhood or toughness.  To sit and wear a dress or get your nails painted because a little girl wants you to?  Where's the harm?  It doesn't make him any less of a man to make his baby sister smile.

If anything, going against the grain to put a smile on her face and make her happy? There's nothing in this world more manly than that.

As his father, I'm so fucking proud of him.  With some luck, whenever he does one day become a dad, I hope he’s more like me than his birth father.  Or my own dad for that matter.  I am by no means perfect.  I’ve never claimed I was nor would I, but these three dickheads will know until my dying breath just how much I love them.

For a moment, my heart sank.  The thought just occurred to me… he could legitimately have a child anytime now.  I mean, it’s not realistic and HE BETTER FUCKING NOT, but… he could... physically.

I swear to god if he makes me a grandfather before I’m 30, I’mma kill him.  On the other hand… I’d have a blast making fun of Lauren for being a grandmother.