Emerson writes, "A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic." Ain't that the truth. I have two lunatics orbiting me - making me mad, making me laugh, making me tired, making me see a spectrum of raw emotion - moaning and wailing one moment, giggling and gurgling in just a beat. Hopping madly around my kitchen, babbling incoherently, demanding things wildly, planting kisses unabashedly. Changing their minds radically, one budding idea to the next, repeating things ad nauseam as if it is new each and every time. My days go from the sublime to the ridiculous in the instant of a breath. And it is all glorious.