Thursday, July 23, 2015

The perils of sisterhood.

            Roberto asked for an update on my children. I have fewer ‘cute’ stories as they mature, but there is this …
            I’ve talked about my baby half-sister a few times. She resembles my two youngest, except she has her mother’s darker skin. She’s a blond, but it’s not the golden blond that my youngest have. Ever seen an antiqued gold ring? It’s very much like that. Sometimes people presume she’s mine. Annie and Kat delight in saying, “No, she’s our aunty.”
            My dad and his wife live near enough that my kids can walk there without me stressing to the point of distraction. They love my sister, and one can often find them down there. There’s a park of sorts, more of a play field than a park I think, nearby. If they can convince one of their older sisters to go with them, they take my sister down there to play on the slides and swings and just generally run around like feral children. To get there they have to pass down our street. There’s a concrete retaining wall on one side of the street. It’s not high. In most places it’s less than a foot high. And no where is it higher than two and a half feet. They let little S* balance on the wall. They hold her hand of course. She thinks it’s great fun.
            Yesterday we all walked down there. I brought some egg salad sandwiches and we brought things to drink and snacks and such. (Good thing there’s a public potty there.) The result was two skinned knees hardly noticed; a discussion of the merits of root beer; a trip down the highest slide fraught with trepidation. It was finally made with sister sitting on Annie’s lap. She screamed the whole way down, flew off Annie’s lap, did a little dance and said, “Let’s do it again!”
            A tall, handsome Scotsman pushed me on the tire swing. It left me dizzy. Isabella got sand in her shoes and spent a considerable amount of time shaking them out and washing her toes under the outside faucet. It was fun.
            Kat is bored with summer. I don’t know why. Usually it’s Annie that wants to return to school. Annie is way too busy with projects and plans and adventures. She’s said nothing about school. Kat keeps asking how many more days until it starts. The school she attends has its first day in the last week of August.
            We found a turtle in the back water of the small stream that crosses our pasture. It’s down to a small trickle because of the drought. I don’t think the turtle is native to this area. Might be … but I’ve never seen one before. Kat wouldn’t touch it, but Annie did. Kat’s reaction was, “Put that thing down and wash your hands!” Annie returned the turtle to the stream bank, and then, mischievous child that she is, grabbed Kat’s hands and told her she was now infected with turtleitis. Kat swished her hands in the water and grumbled a lot, but it was short lived.
            Children remember more than we think. When Liz was tiny and misbehaving, her dad told her that he would rub her butt on the carpet and stick her on the wall as if she were a balloon. Her eyes grew wide, and then filled with adventure. “Do it Daddy! Do it!” she said. I didn’t expect her to remember that; she was so young. But last time baby sister was at our house and we had a moment of pouting, Liz repeated that to her. She got the same reaction too!
            There! Feel better, Roberto. Better than bits of history, huh.


  1. I love your family Rachael. Thanks for this article, I didn' think you'd write so soon at my request. Thanks!!!

  2. We all enjoy these stories. It makes me feel like I am sitting across the table from you, sipping coffee and hearing all your latest news about the kids. Just a lazy morning visit with a friend.