Thanksgiving

No one ever takes pictures of me.
Sometimes I feel left out and wish I could see myself reflected in these memories.
Over time, they will be the only evidence to remind me, any of this ever happened.
But my actual face is not the only depiction of Sarah.
In a way, these people tell more about me than a million portraits of my face.
I care for these people.
I do their laundry.
I bake them cookies.
I hold them until they fall asleep...Andrew included.

When I look back, I will not see my own face, I'll see theirs.

I will see Beckam looking up at me from a midnight rocking chair with his blanky in his fingertips.

This is our family on Thanksgiving.
Beckam waddled around the gym.
He took his most ambitious steps on this day.
He stood watching the older boys playing
basketball, hypnotized.
Sophie and I had a hand-stand contest.
We collided into each other as we walked on palms to keep our balance.
I wondered if his family thought me ridiculous.
A grown woman trying to do a walkover, which I could barely pull off.
I had to bicycle my legs franticly to make it over.
Sophie laughed so hard that no sound came out.
Her mouth gaping and tears in her eyes.
We ended up collapsed on the gym floor, shirts up over our bellies, hair splayed wide.

 



Pepper of course, nibbled on mints from a tiny box.  I think she really is a fairy. 

On our way home, Andrew and I talked logistics.  How are we going to proceed with this family?  We need to buy a house.  Which means we need to save $7,000 for a down payment.  This is the scary part.  We sacrifice everything for these tiny moments with our children.  So much happens behind the scenes.  Things they never see.  I am glad it is this way.  I am content to work backstage so they can shine.