Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…
The Beans may never see the value in a good rock ballad. They may never truly appreciate a movie marathon of Grease, Pretty in Pink and Dirty Dancing. And they may never find ways to justify gluttonous behavior at a dessert table. But, the thing about kids is that, for a short while at least, they are a captive audience.
For a short while, I can impart my wisdom. I can show them what I’ve learned from this good world. I can paint their blank canvas with a few of my favorite things. And with these tools, they will form their preferences. Their likes and dislikes. What makes them smile.
I did some of that this weekend.
Daddy Bean and I, against stern warnings of friends who have trekked the path before us, took the Beans to see Bee Movie this weekend. Movies were one thing J and I had in common from the beginning, even though his idea of a good movie was Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man and mine was The Godfather (can you believe he never saw it until he met me?!?!). Before the Beans, it would not be uncommon for J and I to see movies three weekends out of any given month. At one point, we saw two in one weekend. We love movies. So, it was with joyful anticipation that we carried our little legumes into the darkened theater, found The Perfect Spot* and settled in for an hour and a half of animated entertainment.
The Pie was sold on the concept almost instantly. She nestled into her chair, bag of popcorn in hand, and gazed lovingly at the big T.V. She sat undisturbed for most of the movie, only climbing into J’s lap half way through before being placed into mine while J took Peanut out for a little break. Peanut, on the other hand, started off on the wrong foot with the theater. First, the seats were too much for twenty pounds to handle and she spent much of the waiting for the movie folded into a little V, but not interested in sitting in a booster chair or our laps. And, thank goodness for matinees and forgiving parents, because Audie doesn’t know what movie voice is. She only knows what Audie voice is. And she used it. And she hopped and skipped between us, asking questions and singing songs, every once in awhile stopping to watch a few minutes of the movie. After her trip to the lobby with J, she finally nestled in to watch the end of the film. Afterward, the girls were bubbling with happiness that they went to The Movies!
Another thing I introduced to the girls was hot cocoa. Yesterday, when I couldn’t handle any more of the Lions’ disappointing game, I wandered into the kitchen to find something to comfort me. Immediately, I spotted the tin of Ghirardelli hot cocoa left over from last winter. Aha! The first sip was like seeing an old friend. Perfection! Until I turned around and spotted Maggie at my feet. “Up, Momma!” She said. At first, I begrudged her for interrupting this happy reunion and then I thought, “Why not?” I pulled a teaspoon from the drawer and blew the frothy concoction to a lukewarm before I let her try it. Bingo! Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “More, Momma!” she urged. I complied and then called her little sister over to taste a bit of heaven. No sooner did I put the spoon to Audrey’s lips did she smile with glee. She loved it too!! I cannot tell you what joy this gives me! We spent the next few minutes sitting on the floor of the kitchen, sharing a steaming cup of hot cocoa, one Bean perched on each side of my lap. It can’t get any better than that. It took all I could to wipe their cocoa mustaches off their faces.
Finally, yesterday morning, we took the girls to the nursery around the corner. I had read in a flyer a few weeks ago that the store would be decorated for Christmas time by the first of the month. I had never been there before but there really is nothing I relish more than Christmas time, and all that it entails, so I put the nursery on my list of things to do with the girls during the season. I’ve held back on introducing them to Christmas carols just yet. A local radio station had the audacity to begin 24 hour Christmas music on November 1st, to get us in the spirit. To me, that’s a sin and I don’t allow a bit of the stuff until after the turkey has been eaten and the Lions have been beaten. But Christmas lights are a different story. I’ll allow a little taste of it before Thanksgiving. I just can’t help myself!
The minute we walked into the nursery, we were overwhelmed with light and sparkle. We oohed and ahhed over every gloriously decorated tree. We crouched to peek at nativity scenes and glimpsed our reflections in shiny bulbs. It was literally a winter wonderland and my Beans couldn’t get enough of it. Or maybe I couldn’t get enough of it and I only thought they were enjoying it as much as I did. Whatever the case, it was a delight to be able to share it with them.
I think that what I like the most about showing the Beans some of my favorite things in life is not just that I can expose them to what the world has to offer or so I can capture the curious looks on their faces just before they take their first taste of something amazing and then the surprise in their smiling faces as they figure out just what I was talking about, but that I can share with someone that I love so much these little things in life that make living so grand.
*The Perfect Spot for us usually is in the front row of the stadium seats, on the end.
A Crime Has Been Committed.
The Perpetrator:
The Victim:
The Crime:
In Peanut’s defense, the Pie has been the bully, the big sister, the brute since Day 1 inside my womb. She’s pushed, shoved, pulled, grabbed. She’s stolen pipes, Duckies, kisses and bottles and all the while Peanut has turned the other cheek. Last night, the story ended differently. Last night, Audie showed Maggie that she may be little but she packs a mean punch bite. Last night, she told the Pie that she was mad as hell and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.
I hope Maggie got the picture.
How’s this for your daily dose of cute?
You know that song, “Bubbly” by Colbie Calliat?
In the beginning of the song, over the music, she asks, “Will you count me in?”
Whenever the Pie hears it, she responds, “Okay!”
I sometimes replay the song, just to hear her say it.
Green and White
On Saturday, my heart was in East Lansing. My cousin called me from one of the tennis courts to chide me about not sharing with him how great it is to tailgate like a Spartan and it brought me back to all of the crisp days where we bundled up and filled our boda bags with core warming concoctions and huddled together in camaraderie and school spirit.
Just a day before, I was sharing with Erin my horror at the projected cost of a four year education at my beloved institution would be in sixteen years, factoring in the cost of inflation (go here if you aren’t faint of heart). $366,000.00. Three. Hundred. Sixty. Six. Thousand.
Dollars.
I’m assuming that doesn’t include things like groceries, cute team apparel, late night breakfasts at Denny’s, sorority dues or emergency gas fund to get back home when you are either (a) homesick or (b) out of clean laundry. Gah! And, I’m presuming that it will only take the Beans four years in which to complete their baccalaureate. You know…like it took me….and six months. Wha? Wha? I switched majors halfway through sophomore year! Damn economics!
That being said, I should probably start saving now. This weekend, I should have opened a 529 Account instead of buying this, this and this for the Beans. But really, doesn’t every girl need princess shoes?
When I mentioned it to their aunt, she said that they could go to our local (and wonderful) community college for the first two years and then transfer. I smiled and nodded but what I really wanted to say is that I cannot wait for the day that they get the acceptance letter from my alma mater. I will be decked out in green and white and we will sing the fight song and we will spend every autumn Saturday at the edge of our chairs, fingers crossed, hoping against hope for our beloved team.
The bottom line is that I will be happy with whatever college they choose. Even if their future entails a certain weasel festooned in garish yellow and blue. I just want them to have the same (PG rated!) experiences that I did and to meet new people and have every opportunity that an education affords them. When I arrived at the doorsteps of my dorm, I was shy and naïve and a bit self-conscious. I’d like to say that I emerged wiser, tougher and more confident, yet still optimistic and idealistic about the world around me.
Whatever they decide, I hope they make good decisions, take the right path and feel happy and fulfilled doing so. If that is the case then every penny will be well spent.
Go green! Go white!
Here come the Lions!
Our first official Halloween of trick-or-treating went off without a hitch. The grandparents came over to hold down the fort and pass out candy while we went a’begging to our neighbors.
The Beans got the hang of it pretty quickly and after about three houses, they knew to knock on the doors and to open their little bags to chocolates and candy.
We only went to the houses on our street, because we were sure that the girls would tire of the novelty pretty quickly. When we got back, the Beans commissioned Papa to dish out the goodies. And did he dish them out. The Beans were bouncing off the walls and for a good while after we tucked them into bed, we could hear giggling mixed with tears from the baby monitor.
It was a bit sad to see the numbers of trick-or-treaters drop even more this year. Daddy Bean and I waxed nostalgic with the grandparents of our days roaming the neighborhoods for Snickers and Sweet Tarts. I wonder why there aren’t more kids out nowadays, and even less neighbors passing out candy? I hope the tradition doesn’t fade because, while Halloween isn’t my favorite holiday, there is something to be said about tradition and good memories.
Here’s to good memories.
Air Guitar and Other Developments.
Imagine, if you can, a little sprite, barely over my knees, standing ever so close to me, peering up at me through her crooked bangs, with barely a smile on her pink lips. “Hi Mom,” she says to me, so matter-of-factly. I believe I misheard her. I look down and blink twice. “Hi Mom,” she repeats, louder this time. I crouch down and wrap my arms around her. “Peanut. I’m not your Mom. I’m your Momma. I’m your Mommy.” I insisted. I’m even her “Jeannie” sometimes when she overhears Daddy Bean calling me, but I didn’t remind her of that. But…Mom?
I don’t like it. It doesn’t sit well. I roll the word around in my mouth a bit and shake my head. “Moh-mah!” I say to her slowly. She giggles, finding the trick in this game. “Hi Mom! Hi Mom! Hi Mom” she chants in that little voice that makes you think pink and tulle and baby dolls. I sigh, exasperated, and squeeze her to me as she attempts to unravel herself from my grasp.
And that’s what it feels like. Already. It shouldn’t be happening so soon, but it is. Whenever I feel that this time is slipping away too fast I think about my mother and I wonder if she still feels like there’s not enough time with me still.
Today, M figured out how to escape her pack-and-play. My mom was downstairs talking on the phone with my dad when she heard squeals where there should have been silence. She crept upstairs only to find M out of the safe confines of her bed and peering through the netting of A’s bed. Audie was clearly disappointed that she had yet to learn the new trick. Mom called me up to inform me of this new development and to warn me to get a sturdy gate for the stairs, because surely M would discover that the table nestled quietly between the sisters’ cribs would be a perfect accomplice in her escape. When I arrived at my parents’ house a few hours later, the Pie proudly announced that she had a boo-boo on her head from the daring breakout.
The Pie’s other latest thing is playing air guitar (I am so not kidding. I’ve been trying to get it on video for days.) Meanwhile, her sister’s latest is that she now says, “yes” instead of “yeah,” and she says it with an air of disdain and impatience. Yes, she’s being snarky! And if you try to hard to collect a kiss from Miss A, you’ll only get a shove and an admonishment, “No Momma! No!” Which she also says when Pie’s umpteenth rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle” begins to grate on her nerves.
They’re growing up. They’re developing personalities that are so distinctive that I am bewildered daily that these little people were once just beans on a screen. They don’t get it now, but these little milestones, these developmental achievements that the baby books cheer for, breaks my heart as much as they make it burst with pride. When the Pie walked into the kitchen yesterday and inquired, “What you doin’ Momma?” I chuckled at her spunky delivery and at the same time I was fascinated that she is having conversations with me. I replied to her as if I were discussing my new recipe with a good old friend and before I could finish, she was off to another adventure, but there it was. They’re growing up.
Things I didn’t know about Halloween before I became a Momma Bean.
1. The sentence, “It’s pretend, Momma,” spoken through brave tears can both break your heart and make you proud at the same time.
2. Candy corn has egg in it. Damn it!
3. There’s nothing like, “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”
4. Shopping at any store must be planned with strategic precision during the months of September and October, in order to avoid incessant squeals of terror.
5. You begin to worry if your children will have nightmares because of the things they see during the day.
6. If you buy costumes on October 9 or later, you will pay at least 30% less than you would have had you not rushed to purchase as soon as the Halloween stuff materialized in the stores.
7. If you decide to wait that long, be prepared to go with your second, third or fifteenth choice in costumes.
8. You can’t call a monster a monster when you’ve been using the word to describe the adorable puppets on The Disney Channel for months.
9. They believe you when you say that nothing will hurt them.
10. Spiders are never cute.
Just Say No.
Dear Photography Place Specializing in Photographing Children:
Do you see the exhaustion in my eyes? The slump in my stature? Do you see my frizzy hair, my threadbare shirt? My scuffed shoes? My thin wallet?
I have young children. Twins. Girls.
I’m broke!
Don’t entice me with your $9.99 package special offer just to get me through the doors, clasping your hands in anticipation as I begin to fold like a deck of cards.
Don’t peddle your fares before my tired eyes, knowing that I can’t resist those enchanting smiles, the mischievous smirks. You push my drug like you’re standing on the street corner, hidden in shadows with the goods I want.
You with your enchanting backdrops and adorable props! You confidently start out with the $599.00 package (no…that was not a typo), complete with personalized notecards, darling vignettes and sepia overload. You see the look of shock in my eyes and you assure me that there are several packages to suit my “needs”. You force me to remove some of my favorites (but they are all my favorites!), which makes me feel like I’m rejecting my own children. The price drops a few dollars. My heart sinks because I know that I will have to get rid of more of the beautiful photos of my Beans.
This goes back and forth a few more times. You sadistically remove one photo at a time, painstakingly needling my mommy guilt until I can take it no more. I finally confess to you that I understand that your job is to sell me a large, expensive package and that I appreciate the wonderful work you have done in capturing the beauty of my Beans, but I have a specific budget that I am working with and I will not falter, no matter how many free collages you throw my way.
Sure, I left spending $100 more than I had originally planned on, but you won’t get me next time, you sly fox you. I know your game and I am not going to play it anymore!
So, for Christmas, can you lay off the guilt a little bit?
Yours truly,
Momma Bean
She thinks he can rope the moon.
I’ve been writing a lot recently about my conversations with the Beans. It may get a little tiresome to read, but I’m so amazed daily that I’m conversing with these little things that not so long ago couldn’t even walk that I have to share!
The other day, we waited on the front porch for Jimmy to come home. It was about 6:45 p.m. and still quite light out but the moon was hanging directly above the neighbor’s house across the street.
The girls have recently become so fascinated by the moon. When they spotted it, they jumped up and down in jubilation.
Maggie kept stretching as far as she could to reach it and Audrey kept saying, “Come here Moon! Come see Maggie and Audrey!”
Maggie turned to me and said, “Momma, get it!” but I told her that I couldn’t reach either.
Then, because she knew that Jimmy was almost home, Maggie said matter-of-factly, “Daddy get the moon.”
Who needs a personal trainer? I’ve got Beans!
Yoga what?
Cardio who?
Try doing the Hokey Pokey sixteen times in a row. If you aren’t too dizzy from “turn(ing) yourself around” then you’ll start to feel the burn by the fourth time.
The Beans, fueled by birthday cake, kept saying, “Again! Again!” and what could I do but say yes and put my right foot in, wiggling it just enough to send them into fits of giggles and into each other and down to the floor.
Everytime I tried to sit down, M would grab my hand and command, “Dance Momma!” Shaking my shoulders and tossing my hair didn’t appease the girl. “No Momma. Dance on floor!”
I’m spent.
But I feel a little less guilty about the second slice of cake.
Thank you for a wonderful day, Beans. I’m sure 32 never felt so good.
Audrey and the Hewcoptah.
A: Momma, was dat?
MB: It’s a helicopter, baby.
A: Hewcoptah! Airplane!
MB: It’s like an airplane, but it has propellers.
A: [running down the deck and into the grass] Airplane come hee-ah!
Come hee-ah, airplane.
MB: Look, he’s going away now, back to the base.
A: Come hee-ah, hewcoptah.
MB: There he goes!
A: Right dee-ah! Momma, airplane in clouds!
MB: Yes, baby. There he is.
A: Momma wheah he go?
A: Momma he wen home!
Momma, he wen home in trees!
A: [ten minutes later, jumping into the sky] Bye-bye hewcoptah!
Bye-bye airplane!
Two
I’ve been so caught up in the girls that I haven’t been able to post anything recently. In a whirlwind of visiting relatives, birthday parties and colds, the Beans have entered their hopefully more terrific than terrible twos.
After celebrating their birthday on Labor Day with Daddy Bean’s side of the family, we had only a handful of days to recover and then welcome the arrival of my sisters and their brood. When A & A arrived, I think I only spent a minute here or there with the Beans, as they spent most of the long weekend at my parents’ house, reveling in the attention that they were receiving at the hands of my adoring sisters.
And did they revel.
They had no less than two slumber parties that week and really seemed bothered when I swooped in for a kiss or two.
On Friday, Aunt DaDa was my right hand man at their two year pediatric appointment. We prepared the Beans on the way to the appointment by reminding them how wonderful Dr. B. is and that she is sure to award them with a sticker for visiting her. Peanut took the bait and was pleasant and downright spunky during the checkup. Pie, on the other hand, bellowed red faced and irate throughout the checkup and not even with the help of the doctor could I peel her away from my hip.
The appointment went well and the Beans are doing fine, despite the lack of growth for Audrey. She is still way below the growth curve and although we’ve resigned ourselves to the fact that she’s just going to be a petite little bird, being the typical parents that we are, we are still a bit concerned that she is as tiny as she is. She really looks fragile, but her energy and hardiness really doesn’t reveal it in the least. So, we walk the line of feeding her whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and harboring the guilt of being the indulgent parent that tosses a cookie or cracker to her just to get her to eat.
Daddy Bean, wiser than I sometimes give him credit for, worries that she will, as most women are wont to, grow to have negative issues with food. I had never thought of it until he mentioned it and now I can’t stop thinking of it. So, I try to follow the doctor’s orders of feeding her good, but calorie dense, foods and at the same time I find myself biting my tongue whenever I fall into the usual trap of complaining about myself, what I’ve eaten and what I look like.
Later that evening, we celebrated Papa’s birthday at our favorite Chinese restaurant. The Beans, knowing what kind of audience they had, took advantage of this opportunity to foreshadow a bit of the “terrible twos” for the rest of us. As parents, J and I were horrified, while the aunts and uncles, cousin and grandparents sat amused and entertained.
Saturday was their big day. They turned two, but to them the last two weeks was their birthday! In fact, just the other day, when Gramma asked what they were doing last weekend, Maggie piped in, “Maggie’s birthday party!”
The Beans had a wonderful time and received more gifts than could fit into our little house. They stayed up way past their bedtime (to play with boys, no less!) and finally collapsed some time after 10:30 p.m., having lived it up to the fullest on their big day.
By last Monday, the last of my family flew back home and our household returned to normal. Since then, the Pie and I have weathered a nasty head cold and the Beans have discovered Play-Doh. When I tell people that playing with Play-Doh is a bit tiring, they give me such funny looks. But it is!
Thank you to our wonderful and generous family for making the Beans’ day so special!!
WINNER OF THE MOTHER OF THE WEEK AWARD
NOT Momma Bean who, in a fog of Benadryl and Tylenol Cold* and while practicing the art of horizontal parenting, let her eyes linger a little too long on the phrase “Non-Toxic” listed on the label of the Play-Doh container. Don’t worry. The Pie didn’t eat any. She just tasted it. It was hot pink! Who can blame a Bean??
*Birthday pictures and recaps to come, as soon as I stop sneezing.
Rock-A-Bye Your Bear, Bean Style
This morning I happened to be avoiding work, like any other day, so I decided to drop in on one of my favorite blogs of all time to see what those sweet little sisters and their wonderful momma were up to and lo and behold…they’re dancing! And for shoes!
Woo hoo! A contest that combines two of the Beans’ favorite things: dancing and shoes?? We’re so totally in!
Baby Loves Disco and Stride Rite are giving away shoes to the winner, so yet again, I’m offering my Beans up for public humiliation. If you can get through the dizziness of their circling the (messy) living room, you can see the Beans shaking their groove thing to their favorite group, The Wiggles:
And get on over to Parent Bloggers to dance for shoes!
Bitten
I just visited with a co-worker’s infant twin boys. I felt the soft buttery skin. I heard the faint cooing. I smelled the milky sweetness. My heart leapt. And now my arms are aching.
Remember this?
Or this:
I tell myself that I need only return home in an hour and melt into the chaos of toddlerhood, but my oh my am I overwhelmed with want!
Little beans that blow you away with one look, changing everything about the way you see yourself, your love, the world.
Babies!
Sigh.
I want one.
May I have your attention please!
The Pie has made her first deposit! She has dropped her first set of kids off at the pool! She went to the library and returned a book! She went Number Two! She did a doody! Yippee and hooray!
Yes, my first born has accomplished the much anticipated First Poop. In the potty.
As I do everytime I go to the bathroom (and I think it’s written in the Mom Rulebook somewhere), I left the door open so that the Beans could come in and observe. Usually Pie comes in, takes a seat (fully clothed) and chats with me while I’m going, while Peanut only takes a half-hearted interest before she becomes completely bored and wanders off to find more interesting adventures. Lately, Pie will read (or have me read) her potty book to me and will practice “wiping her bottom” with a piece of toilet paper, while I’m doing my business.
But on Tuesday, she came in with a purpose. Her face became a bit puckered and red and she began to clench her fists. I knew this was my golden opportunity! I cheered and asked her, “Maggie, do you want to go potty?” She shook her head desperately that she didn’t, but I began undressing her anyway.
“Pie, you are such a big girl! You’re going to go potty!”
“Okay Momma.” (Tears beginning to well up in her eyes.)
“Good girl, Maggie! Momma is so proud of you! Look at you!”
“I go potty Momma!” (Still crying!)
“Oh, it’s okay honey! Look, I’m going potty too! Momma is going potty just like you are!”
“Okay Momma. Wipe bottom.”
I give her some toilet paper, but she just clenches it, uncomfortable but relieved that it’s over.
“All done Momma. Diaper!!! Diaper on!”
I got myself together and swooped her up into a big hug and wipe away her tears with my kisses.
“Okay, baby, you did so well. We’ll get the diaper.”
“Momma I go potty!!!” She is all smiles again, scooches down me and then runs off, bare bottomed, to tell Sister about her accomplishment.
The Backyard
It is a summer phenomenon that we’ve only just realized. Last summer, I was blissfully ignorant of the world outside our doors, for the most part. The Beans were just months old and still napped twice a day. When we did go out into the yard, they sat like blobs in their activity centers or they crawled around on blankets and beach towels, just barely creeping onto the grass. Not one for intense heat, I kept them (and myself) holed away in cool air-conditioned havens during the hottest of days.
But now. Now, the minute we arrive home, me from work and they from the grandmothers, the Beans rush to the gate to the back yard. “Backyard! Backyard!” they chant. Previous to the discovery that the backyard has a gate, they would mill around the door wall in the kitchen and repeat the same chant until I couldn’t take it anymore. They learned, “Too hot!” and “It’s raining,” were bad sentences and that “just a minute” wasn’t really measured in real time. They gaze longingly out the window, and stomp away, only to return a bit later to begin the call again. Now, the minute I set one on the driveway to get the other Bean out of her car seat, she dashes to the gate, grabs it and peers through to her treasured space. “Backyard!” she shouts over her shoulder to her sister, meaning “Hurry! Let’s go!”
One of the things that sold me on our current house is the backyard. It’s just as I imagined it when we moved in on a cold December day. It is big, for a subdivision home, and open and it was empty and ready to be filled with toys and playthings. In one corner, there is a swing set, already conquered by the Beans this summer. At the other corner sits a sandbox, which was regretfully installed by Momma Bean, but which is cherished by the Beans as they bathe each other in the stuff in what I think is their passive aggressive way to ensure that they will be treated with their beloved Bath Time afterward. In between and all around are things of the Beans scattered where they were last played with: shovels, tricycles, a bottle of bubbles.
They love it! They roll on the grass. They chase the dogs. They kick the pink ball that it almost as tall as they are. They water the flowers. They flirt with Old John, next door, who brought them a tiny bunny to see just the other day. They stand at the fence, patient and gazing at the ripening grapes, in the hopes that Marietta will pluck a bunch for their greedy little hands.
When I make the unwelcome announcement that it is time to go inside, they band together like thieves and run around the yard, daring me to catch them. I catch one, out of breath and feeling my age, and am cajoled into swinging her into the air. Meanwhile, the other jumps at my feet, waiting for her turn to be thrown into the sky. Finally, we call the dogs and march into the house, happily tired to our bones from our day out in the yard.
WINNER OF THE MOTHER OF THE WEEK AWARD
Not Momma Bean who says a little prayer of thanks every day for Charles Feltman and Coburg, Bavaria.
Roseola
Doesn’t it sound like a plucky little plant you’d have perched on your kitchen window sill? Something cheerful and downright obnoxious in its silliness.
What it really is, is three long, excruciating days of fever, followed by angry pink spots sprinkled all over the porcelain skin of The Pie which burst into little red fires when she is upset or hot.
It’s merely a virus, another childhood illness that I was clueless about as I was skipping through my pregnancy, imagining endless days of coloring and pushing Beans in a swing. At that time, I didn’t think about illness and disease. I was naïve to the fact that children actually do get sick. And it’s not fun.
What makes it worse is that, while tending to The Pie, I’ve been neglecting Peanut. She doesn’t know anything but the fact that her sister, her other, her joy is not herself. And her Momma is worried and distracted and won’t play the jumping game for too long and can’t fit both of them onto her lap at the moment. The extra kisses I’ve been planting on her head are brushed aside, because what she really wants is the return of normalcy. Of Pie chasing her and stealing her crayon. Of climbing the ladder to the slide and of tickling Daddy. Of the giggles at watching each other feed Max and Avery bits of dinner as Momma has that patented exasperated look on her face.
I admit that I’ve reveled in the moments when Pie lies hot in my arms, waiting for me to pet her hair and whisper that it will get better. These days, I’m lucky to get a quick hug or a spontaneous peck. There are too many things for an almost two year old to do in a day. But now, the quietness of her lethargy allows me to hold the weight of her for much longer than she would let me if she was feeling like her old self, and I love it, despite the reason behind her stillness.
Papa M said it best when I cried to him this morning over the torture of leaving her as she clung to me, sobbing:
“My Dear, I truly understand. The most heartbreaking times in my life were when you girls were sick or hurt. I can still remember when Arisa cut her face, you got bit by the dog and Amanda was burnt.
During those times you have to remember they are stronger than we think they are… Love is a painful thing.”
Hopefully soon, both Peanut and I will get our Pie back. And I’ll resume my normal daily chores that have been forgotten this week while Peanut will delight in the return of her beloved playmate. Until then, my arms are open.
