Some men find my husband intimidating. I’ve been told in the past that they wouldn’t want to be put head to head in a fight with him. I always thought it was funny. He aways seemed like a big old teddy bear to me. But no, they insisted.
Then I looked across the dinner table today. We had pizza, and I saw Goosie, who is only slightly bigger than TJ’s head, goading him on, trying to steal pizza out of his mouth, trying to stick her hands in his mouth, trying to tickle him or poke him or pull his hair. And there I had my proof. Teddy bear it is. At least to the people that matter.
A while later, I was sitting on the couch, and I saw little Mae, tulle in her hair and a monkey on her bottom, running across the room trying to carry a plastic pastry, a pretend sippy cup, a plastic fork, and her baby over to the ottoman to feed her baby. She was getting frustrated. She had so much to carry, and she was insistent on carrying it all in one trip. She takes such good care of that baby. Unless she’s mad. Then she’ll throw her across the room or use her to bang her sisters over the head. I guess it’s good she’s made of plastic and fabric.
I went and sat on the couch and Goosie came running up to me with her white blanky up to her nose, sniffing it, asking me to read her a book. It has been a long week for Goosie and me. She had too many “whys” and I had too few answers. But curled up there next to me, listening to me read the story of Peter Pan, her desperately looking for a nonexistent Jake, she was so peaceful, so intent and content. How so many different, big emotions can live in one little body is beyond me.
And then there’s Magoo. She’s all of six, but her maturity often far surpasses that. She’s my helper. My right hand. Her sisters’ best friend and the most holy six year old I know. One minute she’s curled up next to me, telling me she’s not tired, and the next minute, she’s out like a light, just like the precious little girl I have known her whole life. And then a little while later she is giggling like a teenager, asking to watch “big girl shows” like Boy Meets World, and secretly whispering to me the name of the boy she wants to marry. She begs to ride her bike around the block and then panics a little every time she gets more than five feet ahead of me. She’s so excited to become a first grader and yet part of her is still very much little. I hope that little part isn’t too quick to part.
And it’s all here in this house. This crazy, funny, quirky, confusing, beautiful life. I try to capture it in words. I trust my camera to remember the details I cannot. And yet I know nothing could ever quite capture all that this life is. All its ups and downs and twists and turns. I don’t even think I could capture all the ups and downs that occur before lunch time.
But I write what I can. Because one day these days will be gone. I pray my memory will serve me well and will keep me warm as I sit up waiting for a teenager to get home from a date or a daughter to give birth to her own. But for the times when the memories fade, I hope these words and these images will provide some solace.
Because these are the times. I may be too exhausted and overwhelmed to see it all the time, but they are here, and they are now. In all the world, in all the places, and all the ages, there is no where I would rather be than right here, right now. These are my glory days. I pray I serve them well.