Two doors down from me lives a sweet family of five: Mom--NICU nurse, Dad--aforementioned Real Househusband of the U.S. Air Force (he has a part-time job but I don't know it), a 13-year-old daughter and 4-year-old twin boys with whom I share a birthday. Mom seems like a fun lady, but she works all the time and is frequently gone with 4 hours' notice on a plane to pick up a baby from Korea, Guam, mainland Japan or transport one to Hawaii. Dad is a grilling machine who feeds us meat and hosts a weekly He-man Woman Haters Club, which Nathan frequents when he's here. The twins, amazingly well-spoken and gregarious, are fraternal and their personalities are as different as their looks--one is blond/blue-eyed and the other is brown/brown-eyed, but they are both in love with Eva. In love. They randomly walk in my door (they've never knocked), already calling "Is the baby asleep?!" If she is asleep they immediately sneak upstairs to have a gander. If she's awake, they stay for play time. Blondy likes to try to pick her up and hug her, and she favors him. "I just want to kiss her hands!" he says. Me too, buddy! The other twin is more verbal--he won't chase her around, but he likes to put words into her mouth. "She's like 'Mama! Mama! Change my diaper!'" I ask them if their dad knows where they are. The dark one remains tactfully silent. Blondy: "Yes, I asked and he said we could come here." (Inevitably, 10 minutes later a slightly frantic dad tracks the discarded tricycles and boomerangs to my door, having had no idea where they were.)
Today they found my sunglasses on the table in the living room. They call Nathan "your dad".
"Are these your dad's sunglasses?"
"No, those are mine."
"Where are your dad's sunglasses?"
"He went to Iraq, so he took them with him because it's very sunny there."
"And then did he die?"
"No, he didn't die."
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