The little one clings my bare back,
The less-little one counts down from 3.
I jump, the gasp from above lets me know
for a moment, my smallest child’s
Smiling face touches the sky.

I spread my arms and splash into the water,
Plunging to the bottom like a doomed plane
I stay down long enough for my backpack-child to detach,
And float amidst myriad bubbles and four tiny limbs, 
A momentary elasmosaurus.

I surface, to high-pitched giggling and cheering,
the mark of any successful dive,
And I swim.  The little one latches onto me,
A trill and a tug as the elder does the same
I hold my legs steady, and let them ride.

As I pop my head up, draw in a gasp of breath
I hear the elder singing,  voice as thin as she is, as high as her spirit.
“Daddy’s my surfboard!  Daddy’s my surfboard!”
The smaller one joins in, with croaking harmony
And one disagreement “Daddy’s OWAH turfboard!”

I glide deeper, cutting off their nascent debate.
No one can argue underwater, not even sisters.
They hang onto me and eachother like joy trumps oxygen.
Their gleeful laughs fill the air as we breach,
And fill me more than any breath in my lungs.