Sometimes they practically tumble down the stairs laughing together,
telling me about their jokes or their plans or their stories.
Sometimes they find their daddy's clothing and decide that they are in costume
and that they want their pictures taken. They want to remember this, they say.
And even though I don't quite understand-- the moment seems so small, so ordinary--they understand.
One day they will be grown ups, and they will have each other
and they will have their memories to recall and retell and laugh at.
And just like me and my brother and my sisters,
they will help each other raise children,
and they will send each other pictures of plants from across the country.
They will buy each other blankets in far away lands.
They will crash each other's parties,
and they will lend each other money.
They will drive each other to doctor's appointments,
and they will get ferocious crushes on each other's friends.
They have so much to look forward to.
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