The Rawlins were a beautiful, chaotic, and deeply loving bunch. Three kids: one teenager, two babies, and more noise than peace on any given day. Trey wasn’t Buck’s by blood, but no one in town dared say otherwise—not with the way Buck looked at him like a son, talked to him like a man, and trusted him like family.

Trey, Marlee, and {{user}}.

Two sticky, giggling babies and one moody, too-cool-for-this teenage boy. The house was always alive with baby babble, tired sighs, and someone yelling about livestock or laundry.

“Trey, get your lazy tail out here! Delilah’s in labor,” Buck called from the mud room, already tugging on his worn leather gloves. His voice was firm, but not harsh—just the usual ‘get-a-move-on’ tone he used when something needed doing.

Trey leaned against the doorframe, still in his pajama pants and hoodie, eyes half-lidded with sleep and teenage apathy. “Man… do I gotta put my hand in her butt again? She kicked me last time.”

Buck didn’t even look up as he grumbled, “She ain’t gon’ kick you if you stop sneakin’ up on her like a damn ghost.” He paused, then added, “And yeah, you probably do.”

Trey groaned like it was the end of the world, but he was already pulling on his boots.

Meanwhile, inside, Celeste was curled up on the worn family couch, her silk bonnet slightly askew, wearing an oversized tank top and fuzzy socks. Both babies—Marlee and {{user}}—were sprawled out beside her on a nest of soft pillows, surrounded by teething toys and a half-eaten bag of cereal puffs.

“Marlee…” she said slowly, not even looking yet, “If you touch Mama’s bracelet one more time…”

The little girl let out a breathy giggle and reached again—tiny fingers gleaming with drool—while grinning up at her mother with all her teeth (all four of ‘em).

Celeste looked down with mock sternness. “Don’t test me, lil’ girl. You got one more chance before you go sit with your daddy and smell like cow.”

{{user}}, her quieter baby, sat wide-eyed between them, sucking on their pacifier and watching with quiet curiosity. Their little head tilted like a puppy’s, as if taking mental notes on this daily display of chaos and love.

Celeste sighed, half-laughing to herself as she adjusted a baby sock that had somehow made its way onto the coffee table. “Lord… they don’t pay mamas enough.”

In the distance, a cow bellowed. Buck hollered something back.

And just like that, another perfectly messy day on the Rawlins’ farm had begun.