Trav is golfing. Obviously, I feel some way about it since I chose to lead with that introduction. (Confession, sometimes I’m jealous that he’s a boy. In a
sorority house full of females, I’ve been told my jealousy is normal. And just fyi, no, I don’t want to be a boy.)
Avayah is in her room reading The Borrowers. That’s a lie. She’s watching YouTube challenges. The kind where they mix random ingredients, say pepper, mayo, yogurt, and strawberries into a blender then pulse the concoction into smoothie consistency, before trying to see who can drink it without gagging, or worse throwing up. With that said, I wish she was reading The Borrowers.
Amelia and Anabella are gracefully (if that means tripping and bumping into every piece of furniture we own) running through the house, dressed as Anna and Elsa. In a few minutes, they will reappear as Belle and Ariel. This will continue until all the dress-up gowns are carelessly scattered upon Amelia’s bedroom floor, her room now a wicked piece of abstract art.
Adalynne is sitting in front of me, sharing my desk. Her face is serious lines and focus. She is working on a “surprise picture” for me. Per her request, I’m not allowed to peek around the corner of my Mac.
I don’t peek, although I don’t like surprises. Even if they are just an assortment of cut-out pictures of a ballerina, colored and taped on construction paper.
I need involvement. I want to watch her little face, her process, her expressions as she creates her newest masterpiece.
Avoiding my instinct to look, I read my father-in-laws blog post about blessings. I’m immersed.
“Mama, they are growing up so fast.” The statement jumps over my Mac and hits me between the eyes just as I finish the article.
I angle myself into her view. Adalynne is gazing at Amelia and Anabella who are dancing, while pretending to freeze one another in the living room. Although I can’t see their newest choreography, I can hear their dresses swooshing and “fffffshhhh.” And if that doesn’t confirm it, it’s definitely set in stone with Amelia directing, “stop moving Bella, I froze you…”
I want to chime in rebuttal to Adalynne, that they all (her included) are growing up too fast. But I sit and listen as she keeps her stare upon them.
“Amelia used to be four,” She informs, her rising little hands stopping mid-chest, “and now she is five…”
“And Bella used to be one,” Her voice sounds lighter, her little arms rapidly mimicking the motions of rocking a cradled baby, “and now she is two…” By now she sounds disenchanted.
“They used to be small mama.” Her voice begs me to confirm this statement’s truth. Maybe if I disagree, saying they were never small will somehow wipe away the existence of time and they will stop growing up, herself included.
“How do you get through this??” She emphatically questions. She looks so small, but sounds so adult to my ears, as real tears pool in her eyes.
Out of my flock of four beauties, Adalynne (my seven year old) feels everything. More so, she loves babies, to the point of trying to hold stranger’s babies.
She takes it very personally that Anabella is now a busy toddler, who screams when Adalynne attempts to swaddle and rock her.
She starts to fan dry her eyes, because she is not her mother’s daughter at all.
“This is so painful…” She laughs, her misty blue eyes locking with mine.
“It is…” My heart and voice admit, “but it is also beautiful to see them grow…” I smile.
Her innocent eyes begin to sparkle as her little grin lifts into her cheeks, almost mirroring the serendipity, the blessing of this small moment.
May her eyes always see the sensitive wonder of life…