K, you have been asking me to marry you a lot lately!

I love it. It is just the sweetest age.

You realize that boys and girls often get married when they are older…

And you have seen enough Disney movies to know that there is a kiss exchanged at the altar…

Past that, I am your #1 guy.

So you ask:

Daddy, can we get married?

I say yes (of course).

So we hold hands for a second and then you tell me we have to kiss.

Once I plant a smooch on your lips, you are content to go back to playing, as you refer to me as your husband every now and then.

I would marry you in a heartbeat, Mamacita.

I love you.

-Dad

K, I have got to get this down before I forget.

Words from a year ago collided with words from yesterday – and a light bulb went off in my head.

In short, when you were two or three, you would sometimes call your poop a “hot dog.”

As in:

Look at the the hotdog I did, dad!

That’s funny and cute by itself, but I realized the other day that you forever ago also called a hotdog a “slimy.”

Ha!

What funny connections kids make.

K, you are a glorious firecracker.

And I hope I remember ever silly thing you say.

I love you.

-Dad

K, the day after T was born, Aunt Jenny told us a story about you.

See, T was born on a Monday and everyone came to town this last weekend to see her arrival.

Grandma and Grandma stayed in a hotel and came and went from our house. Jenny and your cousins did the same.

And Pop and Gammies stayed in our house with you and H while mom and I were in the hospital.

T was born just after 8 AM and we called the family to come and see her after lunch.

You and H came with Pop and Gramms first.

K, you met T with about the same disposition that H first met you, just over three years ago.

You were curious, slightly unsure, and a little distracted, all at the same time.

H was there with you, grandparents were waiting, and the general anxiety of the day – I didn’t think too much about it.

Y’all visited and left the hospital around dinnertime.

When you got back to our house, Aunt Jenny was there to greet you.

Helping you out of the car, she asked you if you had fun, if you liked your new baby sister, and if you had a good time.

She said you answered the same each time, with a blank stare.

You just said your sister’s name: “T.”

Now I don’t know what you thought a little sister was going to be – but you listen here.

Big sister on one side and little sister on the other, you are perfect.

You are the perfect pause between the beginning and the end.

You are loyal, independent, and fierce in a way that I cannot even describe.

I love you so much, little biscuit.

My Mamacita.

I love you.

-Dad