Riding in the car with the Hatchlings is some of the best time I get in a given day. I learn a lot from our conversations in the car, like the history of Thanksgiving, how Justin Bieber goes to H#1’s school and doctors’ strange behaviors while birthing babies. Last week on the way home from dropping off H#1 at school, H#2 asked me, “Mommy do you have bruvvers and sistuhs?”

“Yes, sweetie, one brother,” I answered, “you know, your Uncle J?”

“Uh-huh, yeah I know.” (Thoughtful pause.) “So you choosed to live with Daddy for the rest of your lives?”

“Yes,” I responded, not really sure where this was going.

“Why didn’t you want to live with your big bruvver when you bofe grew up? When I grow up, I want to live with my big sistuh, but she might meet someone she wants to marry and live with the west of her life. And when she does, I’m going to get me some new fancy clothes and a new red bowtie and go to the wedding and I bet the boy she marries will be handsome, but I bet my big sistuh will think I’m even handsomer. Especially because I wear hair gel. And if I meet someone I want to marry and live with the rest of my life, I bet she’ll be pretty but not as pretty as my big sistuh, because no girl is prettier than her.”

As I rounded the curve, preparing to turn back on the main road, I fought back full-on sobs, my heart aching with the tenderness of the moment and the intensity of H#2’s eyes. Picturing a life with days absent of his big sistuh. Imagining a time they don’t live near each other. A time they don’t live near me.

I turned towards home and wiped my eyes, muttering about the early morning sun, and said, “I couldn’t agree more, sweet boy. Couldn’t agree more.”

H#2 adores his big sistuh.Taken at Hilton Head Island, SC.