Six and nine years ago, (pretty much right about now) I went into labor with my kiddos...yup, they have the exact same birthday, August 26. (Both born the same hour in the morning, even!) Eli picked me up earlier just to prove he could, and we share the same size shoes and t-shirts. He holds my hand when I look glum and tells me he loves me every day. He's wise beyond his years and such a comfort. He reads long stories to all his little cousins and nailed the target with every arrow he shot out back this evening. He's precise and patient and strong and smart and thoughtful. Ira sings these amazing made-up songs that have me doubled over with laughter, he climbs in bed with me every morning at 5AM, like clockwork, where he tangles my hair up around his fingers while whispering jokes that make no sense. He makes everyone laugh and has the softest skin and tiny freckles spattered on his kissable nose. He's a goof and a clown and a cuddler and a charmer. They are the two most special gifts I've ever received and have been my saving grace and sanity through rotten times. I love, love, love them beyond words. If anyone wants to know what the secret to happiness is...what the meaning of life is...what the whole point is...why we get up each day...best I can figure is: it's this.
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