My interrobangs,
Today you are both somehow four, which means you are getting too old, too quickly. So please stop.
More astounding — we’ve been a family for three years now. With roles that seem decades in the practice.
Jadie, you are the beauty of the clan. Your maroon Chocolate face and those sunset eyes still catch me off guard when I see you seeing me, which feels like every time I need it. I remember you in palms.
Charlie, you are the ultimate co-pilot. You take the next-to pillow each night, stay put until I rise. You are my yes-yes-yes, my what-took-you-so-long, my after-all. Like all rescues, you know.
And now so do I. Breakfast comes after the park. Green beans help feign a feast. Salmon oil on anything is like bacon dip.
We’ve created a rhythm of bone, beat and breath. You spot our electric clown car before I do, and you’ve become rolling ambassadors at local hamburger joints. People ask if you’re okay if they notice you’re not hatchbacked.
Perhaps that is why you always are. Because I know I am okay if we are rolling as a pack.
Four winters have passed like a breath. You found your way here along different paths, but both were forged by paws pressing time into corners of a house now yours. Twin souls in different coats, you’ve taught me that love multiplies rather than divides.
Today you are four — just another day to you. But to me, a milestone of miracles: Two creatures that share my days; two stories braided with mine; two reasons to believe that the best things in life come in pairs.
Happy Fourth, little ones.
With love and salmon oil,
pops
