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“I worry, Mom. These kids are so messy!” Silas seems to have taken it upon himself to be the family’s watchdog, perhaps imitating me in some way. He also says he wants to be a neurologist like me and my father.
He walks off toward where his grandmothers, Mom and Eleanor, are relaxing on lounge chairs by the sea.
About five years ago, we decided to buy a house in Corolla Beach, North Carolina, and we come here every vacation. The property is practically on the water, and my kids love going kayaking with us.
“I’m raising little Athanasios clones,” Brooklyn says, sitting on my lap. “The calmest one is Calisto. The younger twins are learning from Silas and Soraya,” she says, pointing at Hero and Kosmos, our three-year-olds.
“So you’re raising ‘mini gods,’ then?” I tease, and she gives me the classic eye roll I adore so much.
“Tone it down, mister.”
“You like my arrogance, woman.”
“I love everything about you, husband. Your flaws match mine. We’re perfect together.”