Without her

He pressed down firmly on the home-made play-dough with his teeny 6-year-old hands, making creations, bending and twisting, begging me with his eyes to help.  The almost-two-year old stared and took it all in, tentatively reaching for hot-off-the-oven dough.  It was the first time she had ever met the squishy stuff.  It was long overdue but today was her lucky day because her first sister was at school and Mommy was feeling creative.

And they molded and stretched and pounded with ease of movement,
sharing utensils and giggling.

Freedom.  For them. For me.

No one had to yell "June...NO!"
Nobody had to get their finger half-bitten off by reaching their fingers into her mouth to swoop out the swiped playdough.
No one had to snatch the tools from her for fear she would  destroy them with her teeth. 

Not one of us had to keep an eye on her so she didn't steal away to the bathroom and suck down all the toothpaste or eat the toilet paper or the plant or the magazine.  Especially the new Martha Stewart one.  You know the one with all those delightful, colorful macaroons.

It was easy. It was give and take. It was pure joy and delight.

And for an hour I played with my two children and wished it was them.
Always.
Only them.

All was at peace as I took in the sight of them.

And then we bundled up in warm cozy jackets and walked outside.  Just the three of us.  James reached over and wrapped his big hands in Char's bitty hands and mentioned they were freezing cold and they sat there hand in hand in hand in hand as I strolled home with the boy too big for the double stroller.  And it was pure sweetness.  Charlotte commented on ducks and dogs and James was utterly amazed that she was saying words and pointing and connecting and smiling and looking us in the eye. Because he had never experienced this before.  This new sibling kind of love that he could never share with his first sister.  Not yet.

And his first sister is about to get off the bus.  This sister who we need to love.  Who I know has been good for us, just as we have been good for her.  We are learning to love each other. Still. To connect. To care for. To communicate with. And just with every hard thing in life, it takes time to sort it all out. But sort it out we will.

And even though I wished for a moment that it was just the two of them taking up all the space in this house, in this heart, in these thoughts, 
reality sets in and I realize

I could not imagine my life without her.

This mystery-girl.

She is good for all of us.

My friend sent me this today. 

Ecclesiastes 5:19, 20 
"Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart."