The mysteries peek through

19 05 2015

Evanny, 2 1/2 (2 2/3rds?), woke from a nap crying, which isn’t unusual, but isn’t a daily occurrence either, and I (with her sister in my arms, like I do 9/10ths of everything these days) came into her room to ask her what’s wrong.  She was sitting up in bed, arrow-straight, her sweaty hair in snake-twists, her face flushed, her eyes flashing with fury.  “You tricked me,” she scolded, loudly, pointing with a snap of her elbow.  “No I didn’t,” I protested, scouring my memory for certitude: no, the nap-fight had been relatively short this time around, and she’d fallen asleep while I still sat beside her, patting her hip through the covers while she pressed her hands together beneath her cheek and held her eyes closed with concentrated deliberation.  Tabitha looked back and forth between us, confused.  “Yes you did,” Evanny insisted, still yelling, and proceeded to explain my crime in a tangled, half-coherent anecdote that, even as she was telling it, wasn’t making any sense.  “Did you have a dream that we were fighting?” I asked, opening the porch-door in her room and letting the darkness out and a cool wind into the stuffy little cavern.  “Yes,” she said woefully, still torn between sorrow and anger about whatever it was that she thought I might have done.  “Come here,” I said, sitting down on the floor and settling her sister onto one cross-legged knee to leave an obvious spot for her on the second.  “You’re awake now.  The fight is over.”  And as the wind lifted the wet snakes from her neck, she burst into smile and leapt, relieved and delighted, out of the bed and into my arms.




One response

8 06 2015

Every moment, whether awake or sleeping, you are making a memory. 🙂

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