Even though they are only four-years-old, Rabbit and I refuse to wait until their seven for their official nicknames. Unlike ourselves so long ago we do not give them the luxury of choosing their own.

"I'll call mine, Violet." Rabbit says. She presses her index finger into the top of the little girl's nose and she giggles fiercely. We have already decided to go with a flower theme for their names.

"You should wait," Paris chides us. "You would not be who you are if someone else had chosen your names for you."

Rabbit looks away rolling her eyes. Paris is outnumbered, and relenting to the pressure that we put on her, she decides to call her little girl Lilly.

I look into the eyes of my own charge. At first I was going to call her Poppy, because she had a tendency to hide under furniture or in the corners of the room and pop out at you when you were least expecting it. But as I look into her eyes I'm stuck with an otherworldly certainty. "Rose," I tell the little girl, cupping my hands around her full cheeks. She giggles in delight. "Little Rosie."