it must be love

Growing up together, these two little people.

Pepper hits Beckam daily.

She comes up from behind and knocks him down.

I wonder:  Is this normal?

They are like tiny spouses, occupying the same space and forced to get along.  Yet underneath it, there is a love which must exist.  

licking the cupcake bowl

watching the elevator at the Main Library

rock climbing nap

the turtle at Liberty Park

2 seconds

The yellow plasma car

Pepper chipped her remaining front tooth yesterday.
The weight of an entire dentist chair is now perched on my shoulders like a massive steal parrot.
It causes me to release hefty amounts of air in the form of a sigh every 20 minutes.  I just dealt with this.  Now?  Again?  Really?





Last night at the park, we stood in the parking lot getting ready
to leave. The sun was setting.

One tooth missing.  One to go

"WEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  I turned my head.

Beckam and Pepper were bombing a massive hill on the yellow plasma car.
I'd known since the day we got it, someone was going down on that thing.
I didn't think it would be both of them at the same time.
For one second it was cute to see them.  Beckam at the wheel and Pepper wrapped around him.
Then it sunk in.  There is no way they are going to be able to stop.
I sprinted in my stupid pink flip-flops which held me back.  Maybe if it hadn't been for those flip-flops, I could have gotten in front of them.
I ran along side the car trying to pass it.  Beckam's hands firmly on the wheel, he looked over at me then back to the wheel.  He was realizing, as I had, that he was not in control.  But he held that wheel tightly on course and I thought,  It's a good thing he's steering this thing and not Pepper. 
Crazy how even in those moments of intense adrenaline, a clear thought can hang solid and straight as a pendulum.  I realized in stopped time as I ran along side that car, the kind of a person Beckam is.  He wasn't going to let go of that wheel or let it veer off course.  The problem was though, he couldn't stop himself.  They were only half-way down the hill.
I grabbed the wheel and tried to pull them to me, but the speed was too much and we all went flying, then skidding down the concrete.

In another stopped moment, I saw Pepper's face bounce off the ground and the look of shock in her eyes at the force of it.  Beckam rolled into me and didn't hit as hard.

In the next frame, time went back to normal  It took me a minute to catch up.  My kids lay sprawled and bleeding, their cries floated into my stunned ears and pierced the shock bubble.  I picked up the bloodiest one, Pepper.  Her mouth was full of it, and I couldn't see the source.  I cradled her in my lap and spoke quietly.
I told her:   It's going to be ok.  You're safe now.  We'll take care of you.
Her forehead was swelling in the spot where she hit.  She kept telling me her tooth hurt.  I was watching her eyes for signs of a concussion.  My main concern was watching her head bounce off the ground.   I know it takes a little time to know, but I was trying to know that she was ok.  I was asking her eyes to tell me.  All they said was:  I am scared and I am in pain.
The other adults came rushing in and picked up Beckam.  I could hear by his cry that he was ok.  He was mostly scared.  At least one of them is sturdy.
My hands were shaking.  Like sand in a rushing river, the guilt settled.  If only I could have gotten my body in front of them more, maybe they would have crashed into me first.  Had it been only one kid, I could have done it, but not two.  Pepper was on the back.  That's why she hit the hardest.  I just couldn't run fast enough to pass them.  They were about to get away from me.  I had to make a move.  Even though time had stopped, it didn't stop long enough.
I gave them a bath.  I washed the blood from their heads.  Beckam acted as if nothing had happened.  Pepper wimpered like a puppy at the pound.

An hour later, she sat in the back seat cheerily retelling the story of her ordeal.  I think she is going to be ok.  But we have to go back to the dentist because the root of her tooth is exposed.
The guilt has yet to wash downstream.  Usually I can let things unfold with my kids.  I know I can't protect them from pain.  But I almost did this time.  Just not quite.  I regret wearing those stupid flip-flops.  I regret the 2 seconds before I sprinted towards them.  The 2 seconds when I thought they were cute riding that plasma car together.  That's all I needed was 2 seconds.

partners in crime

Little Pepper Feelings

She always finds Beckam's bottle.
Climbing in Ferguson canyon

Last night driving, Pepper whining in the back seat, her shrill voice scraping down the back of my head.

"Be Quiet Pepper!!"

Well...actually, if I'm being completely honest, what I said was,

"Shut-UP Pepper!"

Yes.  Not one of my prouder Mom moments.  I know I'm not supposed to say shut-up to my kids.  Somehow I thought it would get the point across better.  It didn't.
My rear view mirror is pointed at a sharp angle, so I can see both her and Beckam.
I peak up just in time to see her face melt and she wimpers,

"Mom, you are really hurting my little Pepper feelings right now..."

Home-made poncho at the REAL game.

I clamp a hand over my smile so she doesn't see it.

"I'm sorry Pepper.  I shouldn't have said that to you."

"I'm not very good at this right now, Mom.  I am not very good at being this girl."

She looks sincerely lost.  She looks out the window for an answer in the fast-wizzing world, and finding none she looks back to me.
Everyday.  She needs my reassurance everyday.
Pepper is my most sensitive child, absolutely.  Like a long, slender champagne flute, she is transparent, and easily tipped over.  She is also a beautiful vessel, and whatever liquid she holds, becomes magical.

Mom Rope

I woke up at 6:46 this morning, my feet sticking to the wood floor in the kitchen.  I looked up from my feet to find a rose bouquet perched on the counter.  Next to it was a card with my name scrawled in fimiliar cursive.  People rarely write in cursive anymore, but my husband always does.
I told him early on, 'The best gift you can give me is a real letter.'
Now we have been swapping letters for 7 years, on Mother's Day, Father's Day, Wedding Anniversary, and  Valentine's Day.

I sat with my coffee, on the bar stool, and read mine today.  I can still feel the stickiness the tears left when I read it.  He validated my work.  He told me he would try harder to remember.  He said all the things we are too busy to say.  He wrote it after I had gone to sleep.  I had to wipe tears 3 times to get through the whole letter.  I looked around at our kitchen.  It is such a common place thing we are doing, raising this family, being married.  At this counter I make waffles, administer tylenol, cut carrot sticks for Sophie's lunch.  I hop up onto it while Andrew gets his coffee before work.  We get about 5 minutes.  Sometimes he comes and wraps arms around me before he leaves.  He kisses my forehead.  Sometimes I stand arms folded across my chest and we exchange silent glances sideways.  All he gets is a curt, 'Bye.'  The door slams extra loud.  We are not always nice, and that's ok.  We have something better than nice.  We have trust.  I trust we will always come full circle.

At an earlier time, this would have scared me.  But now I can't spare the energy.  I have 3 kids to care for, and Sophie has to be at school in 45 minutes.  The cycle starts again.  Just as Andrew and I have varied degrees of patience and affection for each other, I vascilate with my kids.  Some mornings they can spill Cheerios all over the kitchen, and spend 10 minutes feeding the fish, run around naked in juggly delight, and I will just smile.  Other mornings, if Sophie shuts the fridge too hard, I yell at her,
'Beckam is still sleeping!  Be quiet!  Hurry up!  But be quiet!"
She rolls her eyes and struts her gymnast butt down the hall.  I apologize to her daily.  In our family there is a trickle down affect.  He apologizes to me, I to her, she to Pepper, and Pepper to Beckam.  Imagine if we never softened to each other.  This is how it works.  It is a series of tiny recognition, surrender and apology.  It is how the flow continues between us.

St. Patty's day spread

I was taught originally by my Mother.  She sang to me at night in her tangy voice, just small enough for a little girls ears.  She smoothed back my hair and sat with me until  I was asleep.  Now I do this for Sophie and Pepper.  It is not easy at the end of a long day, but I do it, because she did it for me.

She created magic at every holiday.  She sewed me Easter dresses, complete with a hat and gloves.  She made me a quilt with tiny pink roses on it.  I still remember the thin white ribbon she tied it with.  I got it for Christmas.  On holidays mornings, I knew there was a spread waiting.  It was SO hard to stay in bed.  All those gifts laid out looked like a shimmering lake at sunset and made my tummy tickle.

Easter spread

As an adult she taught me about a different kind of magic.  She helped me get sober.  She taught me about recovery.  She showed me the door.  Since then I have found teachers everywhere.  All around me, the trickle down is in effect.  I find the small experience I had as a child is happening simultaneously to a powerful degree.  It makes me less afraid.  It helps me let go of my own children, and trust the world of mothers.  Now I can walk far and free.  This is what I hope for mine.  I hope I can plant a love so deep that it can never be uprooted.  I hope they carry it and swing wide.  I hope they trust it to catch them.

swing wide Sophie

Thank you Mom.

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.