Knowing

When I think of them, my first thought is to say, "My kids? Oh, they are 10, 6, and 4". None of that makes sense logically - for one thing, my oldest is 6 years older than #2. For another? My kids are actually 17, 11, and 9.

But in my heart, my kids are 10, 6, and 4.

Chickee is 10 - all long fine light brown hair and big brown eyes behind round framed glasses. She is thin and angular, a pointy chin and bony fingers and just gotten the hang of sarcasm and humor. She is of a dry witty humor that is surprising at her young age, yet wears her fuzzy footed jammies and dances unselfconsciously in the living room and willingly watches Winnie the Pooh with her baby siblings. She is light, easy, love. She is friendship in bloom, she is my amazement.

Buddy is 6 - all bone and skin and crazy hair and motion. He is as defiant as he is tender, he is as wild as he is a tiny tamed kitten. He is pounding fists and red face and arms over his head and sleeping in bed curled tight against me while I breath forgiveness and love into his soul. He is "what if" and "why" and "how come" and "when" and an encyclopedia of information that embarrasses me and my own lack of. He is soft brown hair that I rake my fingers through while we read together.

Bear is 4 - silly sunny shiny beauty all things sugar and spice 4. She is toddler-ey in a slightly worrying kind of way and independant in a 3rd child kind of way and she is my snuggler my hard to sleep by herself always needs her mommy devoted to her daddy worshipping her siblings little ringlet haired pure faced innocent baby.

no. not. it's gone... Lord, the time has been stolen from my heart.

Chickee is 17 - strong, strong, strong. She is fire and ice and don't mess with me and longs to be with her family just as much as she longs to live on her own in the midst of a bustling city and poor students and a busy nightlife. She is my friend, my ally. Slowly she has become the hugger of me, instead of the huggee. She has been the grasp of life in my hand, the light in my darkness, the voice of reason. She is so smart, so wise, so controlled... she is caring and inventive and remarkable and I am so glad, so glad, so glad... she is mine.

Buddy is 11 - yesterday he was long boing-boing curls past his shoulders and bangs in his eyes and stealing my extra hold anti-frizz creme. Today he is Emo hair, swept sideways over one eye, short to the collar now and just covering his ears. He looks like... me. That is my face, those eyes, that chin, that wild grin. He looks like his father, those cheekbones, that nose, that over-confidence hiding shyness. Yesterday he was a little boy who wanted me to lay with him at night and today he was carrying a baby in his arms and singing a silly song to lull that baby to giggles. I am glad, so glad, so glad.. he is mine.

Bear is 9 - but really 5, or 6, and sometimes 30. Bear is my conundrum, my quest, my conviction and my concern. Bear is my sunshine hiding under clouds and I am her wind to blow the clouds away. Bear is my giggle, my ice cream eater, my story time snuggler and my just want to play all day and eat chocolate gift from God. Bear is my ever worry, my constant thought, my research and my reason. She lifts and pulls and I am strong and frightened and I am her anchor and she... yes she is mine. She holds me firm and gazes at me with my mothers hazel eyes and my own long dark hair and waits for me to do the right thing.

My children are forever 10, 6, and 4... and 17, 11, and 9. And someday they will be 25, 18, and soemthing else entirely. And regardless, I love them. Oh how I love them. I know them by their scent, by their footfall, by the shape of their bodies and the glow of their skin. I know them... and they? They know me.