On the Virtue of Having One's Head Sewn to One's Neck
We are walking across a parking lot. I am holding Eli's hand, and carrying Isaiah. Caleb has hold of the hem of my shirt. This is how we do parking lots. The wife is close behind. Suddenly she stops. "Where is Isaac?" she asks in a panic. That boy is forever wandering off, after all.
"Um, you're holding him."
She looks down at the boy whose arms and legs are wrapped around her trunk like he is a Koala bear. He grins up at her. She chuckles, that I-may-well-be-losing-my-mind laugh that is increasingly common in our house.