Perspectives

SOREN

In another world, much shorter than mine, where picking your nose and running around naked are socially acceptable, lives my son Soren. In this world, where wild imaginations are praised, my son lives in a loosely hanging couch cover for an apartment. He calls friends on his broken ipod and broken calculator to invite them over for some snack. He dances in front of the mirror yelling wild remarks as a form of exercises and entertainment. The feat of climbing to the top of the cuddle bag brings great pride for he has conquered his mountain.

By filling any bag he is ready to travel into the kitchen for school, on the stairs for a bus ride, up to the rocking chair for a visit to the doctor, and back downstairs proclaiming "Mama, I am home!". He counts the day successful if he played at the park long enough to dig a hole in the sand and fill it with water. And each night he is tucked into bed with a story, a Mom song, a Dad song, and hundreds of kisses. May you never leave your world my son, not for a long long time.

EZRA

"Pop, pop, mmpop" he exclaims as he points to the counter.

"MMBabababa" he whines in fuzzy pajammers.

"Dodgie?" he asks as we descend the stairs.

"Maaamaaa" he cries when big brother's a terror.

"Babook" for when a story he needs. "Babye" he waves when daddy leaves. "Up," he points to turn on switch. "Wa wa wa" when his throat has an itch.

Ezra, my walkin, talkin, dreamin, moochin boy.