Dear Jack & Clare,
I treated myself on Sunday Morning last and stayed in bed late, reading the Weekend Edition of the Irish Times, magnamoniously allowing your Mother to get up in response to someone's wailings to be released from their cot. Once I heard the usual scampering noises accompanied by high pitched yips and yelps, my super detective powers told me that this was not, in fact, a burly puppy rampaging through the house but presaged a blond haired explosion into the bedroom (neither of you ever walked into rooms) so I start leafing through the paper more rapidly.
When you do that, skipping quickly from page to page, scanning the text, it's funny how you quite often end up with a more enjoyable and sometimes more informative read or at least I have. One tends to ignore the major 'serious' articles in favour of other tidbits - anything that catches the eye really.
Not that this process takes long, interrupted as it is by a body plunging through the paper curtain with happy abandon and a gurgled "DA DA DA!" And then the soft aroma of your warm hair as you snuggle in. There was contentment, joy, fulfillment and simple happiness. I can still remember that soft fragrance that symbolises your childhood for me and I have a catch in my throat.
I'll always be grateful for that. For feeling you falling asleep on my chest. Or when you woke at night crying and I would go downstairs with you and turn on some music and dance slowly around with you in my arms until you fell asleep with your head on my shoulder. Or the pure joy in your face when I came through the door at night after work, followed by you rushing down the hall for a hug.
You both made my world complete when you came into it.
Thank you,
Love,
Dad.
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