3 years (and 36 weeks). It seems too short to have known you. Too short to fully love your quirky selves. Too short to feel your little bodies pressed tightly up against mine. Not enough time to stroke that hay blond hair or chase you as you shriek joy.
Aeralind and Bronwyn, I’m not sure if our lives would be full enough without you. Nearly everyday your daddy and I just bust out laughing at one thing or another and whispering, “It would have been so boring with just one.”
There are moments in each day where you get on such a talking spurt that I can hardly keep up with you. You’ll tell me about rain or about how joeys ride in momma kangaroo’s pouch or how your sister is doing something you don’t think to be right or how you want to do this or that. It’s some of the sweetest time with you, if I sit and listen when you get on a talking spree.
But most of the time, you are quiet. Resolute. Purposeful about doing the thing you have set before you. Like laying out your comforter perfectly as you make your bed. Or reading a full book. Or stacking things just so high.
You struggle mightily with lying. Sometimes in a manipulative way. Sometimes in a “I don’t want to face the consequences” way. Sometimes just because. You’re beginning to grow in that area, but it’s an everyday battle for you.
You laugh with your whole face. You are easily embarrassed or frustrated when you think you should be able to do something the right way. You love to wear mismatched clothing. And tights. But no shoes. You snuggle on your own terms… but they are mighty fierce snuggles when they occur. You’re enjoying learning to sing and are constantly singing little songs about alligators and Zaccheus and Pete the Cat. I hope to enjoy your quirkiness even more over the next year.
You love to create. With stamps or playdoh or imagination or stuffed animals. You will create and imagine little worlds and invite us all to play in them. I really love drawing with you. Or exploring new art with you.
You are a ball of energy. When someone shows up to play at your house, you pretend to be shy while at the same time running crazily about showing off in whatever way you can. You love to be chased (except when you’re scared… you hate to be scared). You love to climb things. To jump. To twirl. To play Simon Says.
You struggle with obeying right away. Not because you don’t want to obey. No, your struggle right now is stopping what you are doing to obey right away. You want to obey… but after you finish a book or after you fold everything just so or after I do… You’re making some improvements. I have to lay out my hands and ask you to put your hands on mine. Once your hands aren’t busy, you hear and obey better.
You wear every emotion on your face. Sometimes I shoot water out of my nose while drinking and watching your crazy expressions. It’s all there. All the time. There is no doubt of how you feel: excited, confused, scared, joyful, apprehensive, sugar high… you have a face for it all. I hope you remain tender and unveiled.