Several months later, the seeds sprouted sunflowers. They grew beyond where our roof met the walls of the house. Later they grew up to the roof line, depositing seed across our shingles.
She was 2-years old. We had tiny Petra and her tiny new baby brother. We had a tiny house. We drove tiny cars. We were a tiny family. But, we had these huge sunflowers. They were probably trying to tell us something. There was some foreshadowing in the stems of those suckers. Over the years, things changed. And now, here we are. We're so much bigger. I suppose I'm probably romanticizing those early days, the simplicity we had in that little blue house of ours with just two small children so close in age that eventually people began to think they were twins. I marvel now at the thought that Petra is the one who started this all.
Unbearably and without much foresight, Petra Leigh turned 9-years old today. As the clock struck 1 o'clock this morning, Petra managed to turn nine in her sleep snuggled next to her homey and little sister. Shortly after that, she groggily flopped onto our bed, complaining that she couldn't sleep because Taylor was kicking her too hard and Annike was snoring too loud.
She was eager for 9-years old. She had blueberry pancakes this morning, then kissed me goodbye before she flew off to Taylor's place to go bareback horseback riding. I stuttered, came up with an excuse to nurse Tova but then couldn't take it. Instead, I grabbed my camera and ran after her. I mean, really, you all know what is on my mind. Birthdays are tough for me. I lament and flubbber. I make resolutions to give them a better childhood, to be a better mother, to do more good stuff and less screechy stuff. Of course, this time of year is rough for me. Soren starts it all with his birthday, the next week is Petra's, the next week is Annike's, and the close of the month marks Lars' birthday.
I'm running out of time with my kids being children and my husband's birthday just means I'm gonna be older soon too and I'll stop remembering things sure enough and I haven't even ordered my walker or big sunglasses that stick on over my readers and wrap around the sides of my face!
Today, Lars said the most horrid things. Awful things. I almost feel as if I couldn't say them here, now, today, under these circumstances. He said that she, at age nine, is half-way grown up now. He said she was half-way outta our house.
We took her out to lunch with her favorite two sisters and her best brother. We went all the way to the big city, she wanted to go to Corvette's Diner. Which we did. I made her order from the kids menu. I didn't even let her see that they serve Cesar salads there, she just had to order from the kids menu, else it woulda stung too much. She had pop, which is expressly forbidden in the world of orthodontia. She had French fries, which is what 9-year olds do. She had a milk shake, which is what birthday children do.
She did big girl things, like dances that people did back before even I was born. She did sassy eyes and brazenly looked into the camera . . . 'I dare you, fools, to say I'm still 8!'
Then at home she nestled into the front lawn and wrote down all her 9-year old thoughts and feelings. But, when I look at her pages, they were filled with her outline for her upcoming book report. On her birthday, which is on a weekend, she worked on her homework? She's like a 19-year old. She does these things because she wants to go to UCLA, 3rd grade achievements weigh heavily in their admissions process.
2 comments:
Nine was hard for me, too. And that Lars was mean, just mean, mean, mean. Give that little girl who stayed with us so bravely when her parents had to go all the way across the country to find a new place to live a very big hug for us.
Beautifully written.
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