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Offspring

There they are!  Offspring.  My three favorite people under the age of eleven.
 
Emma is the oldest.  She plays piano with confidence, loves to read and thinks High School Musical is ridiculous.  If there was ever a person who craves independence and responsibility, it is Emma.  She is completely content when you can’t see the floor of her bedroom for all of the clothes, Littlest Pet Shop folks, and American Girl hair accessories, which gets on my last nerve.

Will. Willy, Will the Thrill, Will. I. Am, Wilhelm.  Eight years old, going on seventy.  Runs out in the cold dark morning to the mailbox in his pajamas and sneakers so he can be first to read the newspaper everyday of the week, lives for sports, gets so mad when he is not instantly good at something.  Prefers talking to adults over children.

Jack! Jackie-joo, Jackie-loo-poo, the Jack Attack.  Loves MarioKart, gets down on the floor with his Hot Wheels and races everyday, hates school, homework, chores.  Plays football outside rain or shine, usually shoeless, and is his own announcer as he runs down the field Justin lined off with spray paint in the backyard for his birthday (“…he’s at the 30…the 20…the 10…Touchdown, Auburn!”).  A snuggler and an ice cream aficianado, this one.  Gets incredibly worried about natural disasters and dreads fire drills at school with an intensity that has put him on Pepcid. 

And there on the right – that’s the man who helped bring these little folks to reality.  Who wouldn’t want to marry that piece of maturity right there?  We were made for each other.

I’d be way too serious without him.
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