A Pattern of Words

My sunflowers aren’t doing so great this year, but the zinnias are fine.

Each summer we get her for one week. In that week, she basks in being the oldest, herding kids to the car while hauling bags, organizing quick living room clean ups, twirling the littles enthusiastically, prodding the olders into helping more, taking over bedtime, demonstrating how board games are played, teaching new chores, and showing how prayers are said. Then when everyone is in bed, we read. Chapter after chapter of a book that’s all our own, dissecting characters and plot lines after we’re done. We love our big cousin week.

All I want to do is bake. Which is weird for middle of the summer hobbies, right? But I scoop cookbook after cookbook off library shelves and plot which chocolate-y mess we’ll make next. The kids aren’t complaining.

This might be the last summer her hair turns white blonde and I’m trying to soak it in while I can. Each strand gets wiry from endless pool time, sun soaking, and hasty shower and then contrasts sharply against her rapidly deepening tan. Sunscreen and mosquito repellent lays thick on all of our skin and bare feet stay somewhat dirty at all times.

Their legs look so long, their expressions so old. Suddenly I don’t have a baby anymore and it feels really disorienting.

Everyone else complains about there being too much singing, but I secretly love it. Elena agrees with me.

Wilting wreath: check. Light colored dress: check. Cold front requiring hoodies and hats? Who would have guessed.

It’s hotter than an inner circle of hell outside, but they keep insisting our inflatable pool is “too cold!” and laying on the sweltering, black asphalt. I have a niggling fear I’ll have to scrape them off with a spatula if they stay there too long.

As June flies through our lives, the heat gets turned up and suddenly it’s not so nice to be outside again.

The heat and stickiness of the day, the endless whining of the kids, the long drive to the nursery. But now: other, more vivid memories crowd those out. Wandering through a small forest of trees to pick the perfect Maple, picking out more flowers to plant in the backyard, talking in the car as the heat-spent kids quiet down, luxuriating in time spent together as a family – something we never seem to do enough. My mind can’t twist around the fact that we’ll get to watch this tree grow in our yard – that in ten years it’ll be big enough for the kids to climb and to cast a shadow.