Dearest Bunnies,
You won't let me call you that anymore, nor will Jack tolerate "doll," "bug," or "monkey." So far, "handsome," "sweetheart," and occasionally "darling" are still acceptable--my choice of nicknames definitely reflect the Victorian novels my nose was tucked in for the majority of grad school.
We are at the lake! Daddy, Blue and Maggie were here through the weekend, and you rejoiced in setting out in your new kayaks. Alex patiently maneuvered his blue vessel and oars through the water while Jack's time in our above ground pool prepared him to efficiently skim the lake's surface on his first try. Jack, I LOVE your pink kayak. They were presents from Gram and Grampy, and when they didn't have red, you happily settled on pink, saying dark pink was your favorite color, and boy/girl color rules are stupid. Moments like that make me feel like we're raising you right!
We spent a lot of time in the water, and I feel my age (and lack of fitness) each evening and morning when my neck, lower back, and legs punish me for trying to swim like I did here in my childhood.
I wish we could quell Maggie's nervousness--we gasped in delight when she belly flopped in the lake, one time, only to run up the embankment when a frog's tiny splash shattered her confidence. She won't even get close to the dock at this point.
*Daddy and fireworks; bug bites*
You've been bickering, which I'm sure has been inflamed by the heatwave, by you're polar personalities, and by simply being six-year-old brothers. Daddy had to return home for work, and I decided the dogs should accompany him as navigating your dueling mentalities is about all Mommy can manage. But we drove 40minutes to see Secret Life of Pets 2 in Dickson City and you did beautifully, candy in hand, and I didn't feel that familiar taste of panic in my stomach when I'd leave one of you alone in the theater while I escorted the other to the bathroom.
Unfortunately it's been pouring all day, so in order to earn your post-dinner ice cream, we had a three-song dance party: "Fireflies," "Shut up and Dance with Me," and "This is How We Do It." Two episodes of the new Inspector Gadget, a Bernstein Bear Book, and three classical songs worth of cuddles, and you are asleep. Last I was alone in this living room on such a quiet night, I had Blue beside me, still working on my dissertation while Daddy was working on his MA in Philly. I was also still mourning the sudden loss of my grandmother, who's warmth still saturates this place, and feeling guilty I could enjoy it while my grandfather, who built the cabin with his own hands, was hundreds of miles away living in a mental twilight at a rest home in State College.
But being here now, with you asleep in the next room, I think of happier memories with them. I love telling you about how Mom-mom made Pop-pop swim to the other side of the lake and back if he wanted his nightly bowl of ice cream, explaining the importance of the solid iron scoop, how your uncles and I picnicked and made silly movies on the far side of the lake. You make this place completely happy in a way it wasn't back then. And I thank and love you for it.
