Everything is Satisfactual

The intense summer heat is gone. There is softness in the air, the October light has changed the quality of our days, and there is usually a breeze which makes Ava take notice. She squints and looks around, holds her face up, freezing for a moment at the way it feels on her eyes. I watch my granddaughters, Rebecca and Ava, three afternoons a week. Rebecca is turning 6 in one month and Ava is 7 months old. I stay for dinner and help out with dinner, bath time, and clean up.

We drift through these autumn afternoons by being quiet, but we sing, too. I’ve been teaching them Zippity Doo Dah. Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder. It’s the truth, my oh my, what a wonderful day! Rebecca and I sing. Ava listens.

Ava is sitting up, then overnight she has learned how to crawl. She does something like a pushup and stiffens her legs trying to stand. Her baby neck is thinner; she is beginning to look like a little girl rather than a baby. She has chubby sturdy legs to kiss and blow on. Ava’s head is covered with white blond hair that looks red in the sun. I have to stop myself from rubbing it all the time it is so soft.

On these warm afternoons, I take the girls out to the front yard. Rebecca either climbs the small elm or swings from the knotted rope suspended from a limb, while I sit on the grass with the baby. Ava loves the feel and sound of dried leaves, crinkly, rubbing them between her hands, she goes to eat them, and in one swift motion I uncurl her little hands, brushing the leaves back to the earth. We both watch Rebecca swing from her rope like Tarzan. I try to teach her the yell, but I can’t do it right.

I hold Ava under her arms and bounce her up and down while she does a little baby dance, feet doing a jig. Rebecca and I let her join us in a game of kickball. I swing the baby brushing her feet against the ball so she actually kicks it to her older sister. Ava takes it all in seriously like she wants to do a good job. Her eyes are dark blue marbles, her cheeks pink, her mouth holds two bottom teeth that are barely visible.

I marvel at Rebecca’s strength. Her hands are covered with healed over blisters from mastering the rings at school. Her big top teeth have come in. Her face is sweaty from the exertion, making her look like a Renaissance painting with blond curls that encircle her face, dark blue eyes, pink tiny mouth. Sometimes she climbs too high and it scares me. I love that she climbs trees and appears fearless. I wish she would come down, too, but I don’t say that. I just urge her to come down a little bit.

We have serious bath time discussions. Rebecca tells me that she doesn’t want me to spend any time with anyone but her. I tell her I understand and still, “Would she like it if I didn’t like her little sister?” Just something to think about, I tell her. I understand about jealousy I say. Then I tell her how when I read something someone has written that is very popular sometimes I feel a little jealous. I want my writing to be liked a whole lot, too. Love me best. Please.

I try to tell her how love doesn’t run out, there’s always enough, how you love people in different ways. I search for the words in a continuous inner dialog, something to put into print and illustrate how deep my love for her runs. “I’ve known you for almost 6 years. I’ve only known Ava for 7 months. Do you see how that might be different?” She is not convinced.

I try to take a mental snapshot of the soft light, Rebecca’s strong arms holding herself swinging in the air, the baby pulling grass, then smiling up at me to show me her hands full of green tufts and I wish it to go on forever.

I Love You More Than the Stars and the Sea

When my daughter was born, my son was just about to turn three years old. Randy was crazy about his baby sister until at one, she began to walk, talk, and demand her fair share of  attention from the world and from me. The sibling rivalry between them lasted until half way into their teens. (I take that back. It's still going on in a milder form.) For years neither one of them could walk past each other in a room without a comment, a jab, a waving of hands, a pretend tickle,  just enough to make the other scream, "Stop it. Mom, he/she is TEASING  me!"  They would demand that I take a side in all their fights.

If I wrote a little note in one lunchbox, I did the same with the other child.  At Christmas, I would stack all their presents into two piles on my bed, carefully counting and recounting how many they each would be opening so that it was even, so neither would feel slighted. I did the same with their Easter baskets...two Reese's peanut butter eggs, 1 rabbit Pez container, 3 yellow marshmallow peeps, blah, blah, blah. It is sad to say that all my scrupulousness was wasted.

Sibling rivalry is as old as Cain and Abel. I thought I was over the worst of it, but no. My two oldest grandchildren, Aiden 4 1/2 (my son's son)  and Rebecca 5 1/2 (my daughter's daughter), have begun the battle anew. We all went over to my son's to swim on Sunday. If I gave one of the kids a ride across the pool on their swim circle, the other asked for  three rides. I bought both of them new swim rings, one larger than the other because Rebecca is bigger. Well, she hated the one I bought her because it wasn't girly enough. It was red with flames, Aiden's blue with pink flowers. He relished the idea that Rebecca was coveting his. It made him love it all the more. 

I picked them both up from Castle Tales Camp yesterday at noon. The night before, I had carefully packed a picnic of homemade brownies, bought Capri Sun lemonades, cut off the crusts of the little peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and cubed fresh pineapple and blueberries. I was determined to have a day without competition. 

Rebecca brought her Barbie pink Boogie Board that I bought her for her 3rd Christmas to use in the pool. The other children, being Northern Californian kids, were enchanted and had never seen one before. They were all asking, "What is that? Is that really yours, Rebecca?"    Aiden was flummoxed.  They climbed into their respective car booster seats. Rebecca mentioned that Aiden's was really a "baby" seat. I said, "Listen up, gang. I don't want to hear the word baby anymore unless you are talking about your own baby sisters."  They both laughed. I knew it was headed south if I didn't intervene.

My own mother, even into her 80's, used to have certain things she would say to compliment myself or my three older sisters. Joanie was dubbed the "hard worker."   Lois was " so smart."  Sandy was  "so funny, so intelligent..."  I can't remember  what she said about me. But every time she started saying, "That Joan is such a hard worker," I 'd be arguing in my head, "Yeah, but I'm working full time and going to college full time and I am raising two children and...."   I believe I was 46 years old at the time.

You have different relationships with all your kids and grandkids. Some need a little of this and a lot of that. Aiden needs his confidence boosted. He always fights trying new things, then once he does it he loves it. I take him to the library and he loves tools.  Rebecca needs to relax more. She loves to curl up and have me read to her. She loves to make me laugh or to draw together. They are both so different. I've tried telling them I have enough love in my heart to love them  both "more than the stars and the sea."  (My daughter wrote that when she was 7 on my Mother's Day card). I barely got the words out of my mouth before they were talking about Rebecca's Boogie Board and by the way, "Um, Gramma, will you get me a Boogie Board, too?"

Yep, I promised him one for next Christmas. Just because I think he'll love it if I can get him into the ocean. I know I can't convince them that loving one doesn't take away from the other. It's time I stopped this nonsense of being so careful to be even handed, and yet I have no idea how to stop. Even as I write this, I can hear my son saying, "Do you remember anything I wrote as a kid?"