When she thought of him, she could still feel his small head against her chest in the middle of the night, her tears falling on his cheeks as she begged him to sleep.

She watched as her youngest dug in the sand, his hair curling from underneath his hat. The sand stuck to the insides of his elbows, the backs of his knees, places where the sunscreen was wet and thick. He tossed heaps of it over his shoulder, sending it flying into the wind.

His dad would bring him down the stairs, and he would squirm to be put down so that he could make his way to the pantry to find the Goldfish. Then, the two of them would sit on the couch and watch Mickey

He knew that he wasn’t allowed to touch any of them, so he would circle the rocking chair like he was circling an altar, glancing at the rows and rows of trucks with a look of reverence, itching to grab a few.

It felt cold and silky, and he liked how it moved across his legs, folding his body into its perpetual motion.

The older one laughed and shouted made up words, and the younger one laughed with him, shouting his own made-up words, each speaking their own language. They screamed so loud the echoes ricocheted off the walls and down the stairs, filling the entire house with their noise.

They play leap frog over the treetops, and the stars surround him as they sail through clouds that reach out and try to grab his toes.

It made his feet itch to be outside, made his whole body itch with the need to taste the grass and sticks between his teeth.

The flowers become an ocean he must steer through, his ship splashing against their stems like the lips of waves. They cry out to him as he passes, shouting praises of his bravery.

When he’s angry, he’s gnashing teeth and fire. He shakes the floor with his heavy feet, making the walls and trees tremble. He throws his toys and his magnets, sending them scattering across the tile. They cower in fear when they hear him coming.

His mom’s hand taps out a rhythm against his back as she pushes him higher and higher. He wants to kick the clouds and fly to the top of the trees.

The green turret of the castle cuts above the fog, calling out his name. There’s treasure nearby and his excitement is dripping off him, laced with sweat - swimming through his blood, filling his lungs and his mouth and stomach.

He sees his dad headed towards him so he runs the opposite way, stomping through the puddles in his path. Warnings of “don’t run” swim past his ears, but he ignores them and runs faster.

Her nose is your favorite - you chomp down with a voracious hunger, gnashing your teeth against her velvety plastic, soothing your swollen gums.

He likes the way it sounds, big, fearful; how it leaves your mouth hollow and round, like a sense of foreboding.

I want to tell you how fragile your hair looks - small wisps jutting out at all angles, sticky with water. I want to tell you how precious your laugh sounds as it bubbles up, deep from your belly.

E knows when it's time to end it, when it's time to evolve, and when it is time to evaluate your options. E embodies love and strength and humility.

He thrashes around, finding the perfect hollow where his body melts into the folds of the cushions. Grabbing the remote, he wildly pushes buttons - the chair responds, it’s motor shifting to match the control.

Slather on sunscreen. Chase baby around the house to ensure he is covered from head to toe. Baby may put up resistance, push through. Word of caution: after baby is covered they will be slippery, also sunscreen spots do not look good on clothing.

It’s the color of freedom and back roads, a deep rusted orange. As the paint chips flake off, memories scatter like marbles - road trips through dusty and desolate  trails, sticky sweet cuddles, inky black nights punctuated by the occasional shooting star.