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Dropping Caleb onto his feet, I give him a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you run and brush your teeth while I get your clothesout for school? Then we can go downstairs and get something to eat while I open my awesome present.”
“Okay.” Caleb darts out of the room and I head for Myla.
Knock, knock.
I carefully open the door in case she’s changing, but find her dressed and smiling as she looks back at me from her bed where she’s reading. “Good morning.” I lean in for a hug and a kiss. She stretches, reaching under her pillow, and retrieves a gift wrapped in paper I’ve seen before. “Did Luca help you wrap this?”
She nods vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.
“I promised Caleb we could open these over breakfast. Why don’t you head downstairs while I get Truitt?”
Myla scurries off, and I stop for a moment to take a breath. For all we’ve been through in the last few years, I have to stay focused on this. I’m doing something right if my kids have turned out so well despite all the trauma.
Turning to collect my youngest, I’m nearly knocked over as Caleb races toward the steps. “Careful, Caleb. Mom’s getting old. You don’t want me to end up with a broken hip, do you?”
“Sorry, Mama.”
Pushing Truitt’s door open, I find my happy toddler bouncing in his crib. “Morning, Tru.” I grab him from his bed and spin him around before making it to his changing table. “What present did you make for me this morning?” I laugh. Whew. Only wet. Poor Gammy gets to deal with the poopy diapers today. She’s the gift that keeps on giving.
“Bababababa.” Truitt is becoming a lot more verbal. There are times I wonder if he’s sayingDa-Da, but I’m reassuring myself those are b’s.
I quickly close his clean diaper and reach for his baseball onesie. “Can’t you give me a Ma-Ma for my birthday? Just one?”
“Bababababababa.”
It was worth a shot. “Okay, let’s go get you some breakfast before Gammy comes to get you.”
We head downstairs to find Myla has already started plating waffles from the freezer she’s toasted. There are juice glasses poured and a bottle ready for Truitt. This girl is mature well beyond her years. “Myla, I’d say you’re better in the kitchen than I am, but that wouldn’t be much of a compliment. I mean, Truitt is better in the kitchen than I am.”
“Dadadadada,” he says before immediately blowing a raspberry in excitement. Okay, that one seriously sounded like Dada.Jeez. Wouldn’t that just be the way it goes?
“Mama, can you open mine first?” Caleb is bouncing on his stool.
“Yes. We don’t have long before the bus gets here, and I’m dying to see.”
He reaches down on the floor to pick up his gift, wrapped in the same pastel-colored paper Myla’s is. “Open it. Open it.” He claps.
I carefully pull the pretty wrap away from the item inside to reveal a small, metallic structure. It looks like a Seahorse. It’s composed of different silver hardware, with the fin and tail created from soldered nuts and bolts, and a screw forming its nose. “Oh, Caleb. It’s incredible. I can’t believe you did this.”
“It was so fun. I got to wear a great big helmet with a shield like an astronaut. And Luca helped me hold the fire maker. Mimmo made an octopus!”
“It’s fantastic. What should we name him?”
“Hmmm. How about Sammy Seahorse?”
“That’s perfect.” I clap, pulling him in for a hug. I feel something on my arm and realize Myla has moved to my other side, holding her gift. “Oh, what’s in here?”
She smiles brightly as I open the package to find a picture frame. It’s actually two frames hinged together. On one side is apicture of Myla in the bright yellow dress she wore to the dance with Luca the other day. She’s holding a white carnation and smiling like she was just told she has the highest grade point average in her school. Which, now that I think about it, is likely not far from the truth.
Peering at the other frame, I see an ornate heart. I recognize the swirly designs from those she’s sketched in the past. The heart is drawn in black marker against a white background. There are butterflies connected to it in several places, as well as a little turtle. I giggle when I point to what looks like Tarzan hanging from it at the bottom and point to Caleb.
Myla giggles, and I can feel my eyes well with tears. “It’s perfect, baby. I love it so much.”
And it is. My home has few photos. There are a few scattered ones of me and the kids, but for a long time, seeing them only highlighted all we’d lost. All I focused on was the missing part of our family. And I couldn’t reflect on the fact he was no longer with us, without remembering the why.
I’ve preferred to hang my children’s artwork about our home. The things that represent their joy. Myla is by far the most creative of our bunch. So far, at least. Her decorative drawings are so unique and personal. It’s as if she’s speaking through her art.
Knock, knock.
