Pillow swap

Andrew is gone for the weekend.
I feel his absence in little things.
I locked the door before I went to bed.  I never do that.
I made a mental note:  the garbage cans have to go out to the street tonight.
I only filled up the coffee pot to the 8 instead of the 12.
I left dishes sitting in the sink all day.
I let Pepper sleep in my bed.
I throw his hard, unwelcoming memory foam pillow on the ground and replace it with Pepper's Hello Kitty pillow.
I feel like I should put the pillow somewhere, so it knows that I know, Andrew is coming back.
But a pillow is an inanimate object, so I leave it on the floor with a promise to wash the pillow case in the morning.
Pepper snuggles into me, which means she digs her little toes between my shoulder blades.
All our books are packed for the move so I tell her a story.
Actually, she told me what the story should be and I just followed her formula.

"Princess Pepper rides on her pink pony in her pink dress.
Princess Gwen rides on her yellow pony in her yellow dress..."

Pepper telling a pony her secrets

Pepper giggles and fidgets.  She can see it, practically feel the pony's coarse mane in her fingers.  The colors resonate behind her eyes.  Her imagination is never asleep.

"Princess Sophie rides her blue pony in her blue dress.
Princess Beach rides her green pony in her green dress."

"Yes!  And then they JUMP and FLY on their backs!"  Pepper erupts.  She is now sitting up in bed.

"Yes.  They do.  And Prince Max rides on his.....black pony....in his.....black suit."

She loves this.  A new twist.  It's brilliant.
"Ya!"  She trills, "and Prince Dad rides on HIS black pony in HIS black suit!"

Pepper (right) flying with frend "Bluh-blook"

"Yep, and Princess Nennie rides her purple pony in her purple dress.
Princess Chloe rides her rainbow pony in her rainbow dress."

"Rainbow !"  She can't believe it.  The colors are zinging across the screen in front of her.
"And Princess Mom rides her......"

"Can I have an orange dress?"  I ask.

One of many escapades with baby powder.

"Oh, ya.  Sure Mom.  Princess Mom rides her orange pony in her orange dress!"

We play until we have used up all the people and all the colors.  Then I sing to her until I am half asleep and I can't remember the words anymore.

"Mom, I'm hungry."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes Mom, I'm hungry, and I want a pink waffle."

"I'm not making you a pink waffle."

I give her a banana in bed.   Another act which would Not Fly if Dad were home.

In the morning she comes to find me.

"Mom, where were you?  I thought we were snuggling?"
  
"We were snuggling, I just woke up.  I miss Dad."

"Do you wanna kiss him and pray wif him?"

"Ya.  I do."

"Just wait for a little time...he'll come back from his little trip."
\She puts a hand on my cheek.

"Thanks Pep."

Pep and Dad at the Fair.  He lets her ride the same carousel 10 times in a row.

pony t-shirt

 I kept glancing sideways at her and scrunching up eyebrows.  Pepper lay on the couch in a ball with her unicorn under one arm.
"His name is Vowl-entine Fairy,"  she says.
The two of them have been watching t.v. all morning.

I am doing the doctor dance.
Do I take her?  Do we ride it out?
If insurance were not so useless, and it actually paid for things like a sick visit, I would just go.  But it's going to cost me.  At least $50.  Probably more like $100.  If I can ascertain for myself what is going on, then I'd rather keep my money.  I don't need someone to tell me,
"Yep, Pepper is sick. Give her tylenol and let her rest."

Is is strep?  Her face is pale.  Purplish grey shadows line the inside of her eye sockets.  She certainly has a fever, I can see it and feel it, but I don't know how high it is because our thermometer is about as helpful as our health insurance policy.
Once again, I am left with my own intuition.

The night before she couldn't stay asleep for more than 1/2 an hour.
"Mom, my neck is biting me.  I need you to snuggle with me.  Just for a minute, okay?......where is my unicorn?"
I scoop her in tighter and whisper the words to Somewhere Over the Rainbow.  I have heard her in bed, singing this song to herself.   Pepper has always been my most delicate child.


Sophie burns with life.  Nothing keeps her down for long.  Her appetite matches my rugby-playing brother.  When I pick her up, I am stunted by the density of her muscles.  She is so small it seems I could whisk her from the ground, but she is not easily swept up.  Her stature is solid.  Her feet firm in their spot.  She does not doubt her own worth.
I don't tell her.  She tells me.

Beckam's girth speaks for itself.  He may have been born at the same tiny 6 1/2 pound size as his sisters, but he has made up for it fast.  He is a walking cinder block.  He never stays sick for very long.  As a newborn in the winter, he weathered every cold with ease.  The top left corner of his forehead is where the bruise goes.  I have heard his head hit the
ground like a cannon.  He stands up looks around, and walks away.  If other adults are in the room, they all jump up when the cannon goes off.  They are certain we have a casualty.  The only one still sitting is me.   Because I know he is fine.

But Pepper, she is like Beth from Little Women.  She is sweet and whispy and seems to have one foot in another world.
I take one last look in her eyes.  I feel her neck.
I decide to take her.
"Where are we going, Mom?"
"We are going to get you medicine so you can get all better."
"Okay,"  she says and puts her hot head on my shoulder.
She is limp from the fever.

We read  books and wait for the doctor.  She spends time looking at every page.  She asks questions.  "What is that on the tiger's teeth, Mom?"
"That's slobber."
She laughs outloud,
"Slobber?  That crazy tiger!  He's slobbering on the book!"
"Do you see that Dodo bird, just like Alice in Wonderland, Mom?"
We are at the office for an hour and a half.  Each time the doctor comes in for another test she whimpers but tries not to cry.  I know she is being brave.  I tell her so.
When he's done, we go to another book and she is swept up again.
Maybe this is the world for her other foot.  I understand.  I am the same way.  I can go where words take me.  Words create a three dimensional world just as luscious as this one.  They resonate in my chest, in my gut, and behind my forehead.
I understand myself through these children.  They reflect parts of myself back to me, and I am allowed to marvel at us both.  As I hold and comfort Pepper, I am soothing a younger Sarah.

It is strep.
We get the pink medicine.
I explain it all to her and she wants to know.
I explain the bugs in her neck.
Why we need the doctor to stick that thing in her nose and throat to test the bugs.
Why she needs to be brave and let the doctor listen to her heart and look in her ears.
How only the doctor can give us the paper to get the medicine.
How the only way to get medicine is to take the piece of paper to the store.
She believes everything I tell her.  This is her intelligence, and her vulnerability.  She believes me.

At the store, I get her a t-shirt with a pony on it for being so brave.  Her smile is bright and she keeps sticking out her tiny chest to see the ponies on our way to the car.

Falling water

"Why won't he stay asleep?"  My mind hums against the pillow.
It is nearly 2 am, and Beckam has been fussing for 1/2 an hour.
I am so comfortable.  The kind of comfortable where every molucule is humming a tiny song of content.
I do not want to get up.
Then I hear it.
The fimiliar gagging and choking on vomit.
And all of my resistance melts.
I just want to get to him.  He has never had the stomach flu before.  I'll bet he is scared.

The next morning he was subdued but smiling

He is curled into a ball against his blanky.
The fimiliar white chunks and sour odor, I already knew I'd find them.
"Oh, little buddy...it's okay."
I pull off his jammies and wrap him into a blanket.
We go to the rocking chair.  It has been our comfort on so many late nights.
Both his and mine.  It cradles us in the dark living room like a hammock hung from stars.
I press his forehead into my bare chest, skin to skin.
We get about 2 minutes until...

First I hear the diarrhea, then I feel it's warmth spread into my lap.
I bolt up and into the bathroom leaving a trail behind us.
I lay him on the cold tile and start the shower.
He just stares up at me, too tired to cry.
I wash myself off and then reach down for him.
He hasn't done this since he was a tiny baby, taken a shower with Mom.
Usually he gets a bath with his sisters and ends up with 7 cups of water poured onto his head.
Now he is a solid boy.
Because of his thick muscles already growing, he will not be allowed to be this tender for long.
Sometimes it is too much for me to think about.

He gazes up at me with his bottom lip sucked in.
He reaches out to the water and tells it tiny stories in his grumbly voice.
We stay there for a long time.
Him looking from the water to my face and then back to the water again.
It's as if he is doing the same thing I am.
We are trying to create a memory of this moment.
Because even though he is sick, there is nothing better than having the whole world melt away.

He brushed his teeth - looking up at Dad to see how it's done.