The hubby came home from work the other day and promptly slumped onto the couch. Usually I am not on the couch around that time, but this day I was. Archer was playing with his red Radio Flyer and hustling around the room, drunk with silliness and chirping all the way. Sunshine brightened the walls, and a slight breeze puffed through the opened windows. We adults slouched there and looked on contentedly, my legs strewn across his lap, his arm tucked under my lower back.
Swept up in a rare (and quite cliché) moment of domestic bliss, my husband leaned over and kissed me.
Archer paused. He looked at us. His mouth spread wide and he let out a snarky "AAaaah."
Before we knew it, he was upon us, pulling himself up to eye level with me.
He kissed me. Lips puckered, with a loud "MMMMMWWAAH!" He looked at his dad and grinned.
Hubby bent down again and kissed me again.
Archer followed suit.
Hubby hovered an inch above my face and launched a full scale attack of smooches. Archer retaliated with a bevy of wetter, more audible kisses. I was utterly overtaken by these two boys simultaneously laying claim to my face.
Finally, in an ultimate show of power and shamelessness, Archer put his little body between my husband and me, grabbed my face with both hands, and planted one squarely on my chin.
By this time, all three of us were nearly falling off the couch; our howling laughter echoing out of the open windows.