One pink suitcase and two brothers

When you have a friend who has two young daughters, during your phone calls you get used to hearing, hold on a second, she wants to say hi to you. And before you know it, you're being passed back to the three year old in the car seat who is apparently stretching and reaching beyond normal proportions to get her little hands on Mom's phone because there is a live person in there and she has to talk to that person right this minute. Not to mention that her lungs have the power to shatter glass, and she won't hesitate to use the weapon if that's what the situation call for in order to get her way.

This morning's call was no different. After Catherine tells me that she's coming to Houston to see me and has a pink suitcase that has Dora on it and it's her very own and she can fill it with everything she wants and take it with her on the airplane and she's going to see gammy and gampa and fly on an airplane and she has a pink suitcase she can carry with her, she takes a necessary breath and announces: I have two brothers.

What? Catherine, you have one sister.

No, Aunt Assen, I have two brothers.

And because they live in Vermont and were on their way to playtime at some little red house with a warm fireplace in the livingroom and cheese-making cows in a barn in the back, they drove along a country road and through a pocket void of cellular service. And our conversation fizzled to an end.

One week from today, I'll get to wrap my arms around these two squeezable, huggable, ladybug loving, Mom's knee hugging girls. And then their Mother and I will leave them with their Father and Grandparents and go to Carrabba's for best friend time over dinner and wine. I'm looking forward to that in about a hundred different ways, not the least of which being how much I can't wait to hear her explanation as to those two sons she's managed to hide from everyone until today.