Two weeks from now this house will be a lot emptier. There won’t be a trace of the heaps of never ending twin toddler laundry. The blocks, dolls, and push toys cleared from our living room. The make believe appliances and pretend food gifted out to other kids in need. Our sweet girls – gone.
Today is not that day. In fact, instead of things disappearing tomorrow it’ll be quite the opposite. People, toys, joy, and laughter will be in abundance here. Early Easter is coming. While I had a Pampered Chef show this morning, my mom and Mitch were here stuffing 200 plastic Easter eggs full of candy and trinkets. Once I got home, Mitch and I ran errands all afternoon for tomorrow’s party. There was one special item to buy – the girls Easter dresses.
Store after store. Full parking lot after full parking lot. Crowd after crowd. We finally found the perfect dresses. It was a meaningful shopping experience for us. We know that this is our last holiday with the twins. As a matter of fact, there are a lot of “last times” for us right now. We are working hard to make tomorrow great because we know it’s the last party we’ll have them here for. For those of you that know us well, you know we love to party here in the summer. It may be chilly and wet tomorrow but it’s important to us to have these moments with them and they’re happening rain or shine, dammit.
I only got choked up about 10 times today. As we walked through aisles holding up shirts and laughing at how cute they were. Smiling because the sayings on the shirts made us nod our head in agreement that the shirt was, “so Nay Nay/Sassie!” I hated having flashes of the impending doom of them being gone. I truly wasn’t trying to focus on it. It’s like, here and there it was sprinkled in on top of my happiness sundae.
All of that being said, we are excited to see our girls in the morning and share the day with those that are attending. For many, it’ll be the last time they see the girls. Don’t feel too bad for yourself because in 12 short days, we won’t see them again either. Their mom has repeatedly said she will never let us see them again. That sentence feels like someone lit a razor blade on fire and then cut through our hearts. It’s like trying to control a bleed that no number of bandages can heal. It sucks and we hope she changes her mind.
But for now, for today, for tomorrow, they are still ours. We will choose to celebrate. We may cry here and there. We hug them a little tighter. We give them extra kisses. We love them harder by the day. Even if only for 10 months, we were their mama and dada and they knew genuine love, security, and consistency.
We love them bigger than the sky.