They are girly-girls to the bone, these inseparable cousins. Twice a week, at least, my sister-in-law, Paige, and I take turns hosting their afternoon play dates, because when they play, intently for hours at a time in rooms littered with dress-up clothes, paper dolls and markers, we can sneak in extra moments of uninterrupted work. The sound of them giggling, pretending, and learning to compromise is delicious. I treasure their bond, and this slice of their lives free from anxiousness, insecurity – from any pressing concerns at all. They bring out the silly in me – and heaven only knows what sort of pinched-faced skittish prude I might become without them urging this over-thinking mom and aunt of theirs to dance, sing, or break out my obnoxious (Dick Van Dyke style) Cockney accent every once in awhile. When weary of news reports too reprehensible to believe, having access to embodied innocence is such a blessing. Feeling jaded, overwhelmed? Quick, go drink them in; inhale your babies! Sweet relief is but an impromptu waltz in the kitchen (or something else equally as impractical, as affectionate and memorable) away.