My son Sol is off to Mahalepu beach for a birthday party for some fellow 7 year olds, the Hendrickson twins. He made breakfast in bed for his sick sister this morning. Last night he said, “I love you Luna, Goodnight” as he headed off to bed. Where does his sweet little heart come from? “A re-accounting of the day he was born was made this morning on the trip up the hill to Luna’s school for her group picture with her singing group, “The Sunshine Express”. Her head was warm, and she had the obvious signs of a bad cold – but these Saturday AM practices are somewhat mandatory, and today was picture day for all the publicity photos. So there she was in the back row – looking less that wonderful, bravely smiling – waiting for the last flash so she could exit the bleachers and duck out.
So on our way up there, Sol wanted to hear again about the day he was born and the usual questions. “Did you want another kid?” “Did you want both of us?” “What did I look like?” “Which house did we live in?” “Did you cry when the other babies died inside your tummy?” “Were you excited when we were born? Were you happy? . . . .
My daughter asks the same questions, or has. The accounting, the value assessments, the order of things biological, the prayers, the things that eventually formed our family – and them, my little people, my children.
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