By Rachael Ramas 
For as long as I can remember, I’d wondered if I’d have two kids or maybe even three. Like many girls, I dreamed about my future family—the little faces, the laughter, the names I’d lovingly choose. In the end, my husband and I were blessed with one boy and one girl. But as they’ve grown, I’ve occasionally wondered aloud to my husband, “Should we have had three? Just one more?”
His answer surprised me, “What do you mean? You always have a third kid with you.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. Then I heard a familiar third little voice echoing from downstairs, mixing with our children’s laughter. It was my daughter’s soccer friend who needed a ride home and ended up staying to play. The day before, it was my son’s best buddy, giggling in the back seat on the way to karate. Last week, it was a teacher workday, and while the kids had the day off, a close friend of mine who teaches asked if her two kids could stay with us. I immediately said yes, and watching all four kids play, laugh, and keep each other busy made my heart feel so full.
And tomorrow? I’ll be watching my niece so my sister-in-law can have a special one-on-one day with my nephew. It’s funny, but in my own way, I do have a third child—and sometimes a fourth—tagging along for ice cream, sports, and playdates. I don’t think twice about it; they’re just as much a part of our lives as my own two kids. They call my house their second home, and I treat them as if they were my own. I’ve come to believe it truly takes a village to raise children—a beautiful, supportive network of friends, family, and community.
Maybe God knew my “third child” would come in this form—cousins, my children’s best friends, the kids who brighten our days and fill our car rides with laughter. They’re as much a part of my heart as my own children.
by Betsy Moore 
by Whitney Fleming 
by Leslie Kvasnicka 
