Archives for October 2005

Yesterday, Beanie wanted to swing. We have two baby swings, one shaped like a teddy bear and one like a plane. There is only one big kid swing, the sort that is rubber and forms a “U” when hanging. She wanted to be in that one. I didn’t feel like tending a toddler with a concussion but decided if I was careful and she held on it could work for a couple of minutes.

I pushed her a couple of times before she squealed, “This is…” I anticipated “fun” but she said, “…Fantasgic!”

Aren’t I glad I let her risk and soar a little higher and experience something fantasgic.

I am.

1. When Birdie was about two, every morning she would march out of her bedroom, dragging her blanket, hair all tousled, squinty-eyed and announce, “I waked up!” Sometimes if I am lying awake in the middle of night and I hear Paul sort of stirring I levitate to his side and whisper gleefully, “I waked up too!” He usually laughs, if only feebly at times. Beyond our vows before God, this is one of the reasons only death will part us. Of course, one day this might cause him to kill me…

2. Until I married I couldn’t really cook anything.

3. One of my favorite things is standing beside Paul in church and singing, our voices lifting and mingling. On occasion Christopher will stand on his chair, throw an arm around each of our necks and begin belting out the song, usually a verse behind and off key. But that’s just gravy.

I awoke committed to breaking up with you.

I was 15 and under the impression that I was a heroine in a Jane Austen novel. You were a 16 year old boy who was no match for the 18th century gentleman in his mid-30’s I expected you to be. We were doomed to misunderstandings and frustration. On October 2, 1985 I was ready to throw in the towel.

I don’t remember how or when I planned to tell you. I just remember you beckoning me over to your locker first thing to present me with a flower. Since high on my list of grievances was your unwillingness to bestow tokens of your love on me I was surprised and confused. Of all the days! And then you explained that it was your birthday and that it seemed fitting to give…well, I can’t really remember what you said because the blood was rushing to my ears and I knew I could not break up with you on your birthday.

Now Pretty, have you ever given me anything ever again on your birthday?

No.

I awoke early and this long forgotten memory floated by. I don’t know if I ever told you my intentions that morning.

Getting into the Suburban after school, Mom asked me if I had broken up with you since it had been a topic of discussion the night before.

“It was his birthday and he gave me a flower!” I moaned.

I remember the sound of her laughter as she pulled onto Pennsylvania Avenue.

And so we continued dating. You were still my boyfriend, although I didn’t like to call you that because it seemed so juvenile, never mind that I was one. Too bad I hadn’t read Tennessee Williams yet or I could have claimed you as my Gentleman Caller. Whatever you were and whatever I was to you I was there when your father died, the following April, his terrible death and our childhoods died with him.

I don’t know if I have ever put the two situations together. I haven’t thought about that birthday for years but this morning, remembering in the darkness, it was so clear that that small impulse of giving me a flower kept us together for me to walk with you through your father’s death which forged a bond that kept us together through our difficult courtship.

Sometimes in the trivial moments, the kids running around, you busy doing something, I am awed that we made it through, that we actually got married. I am so thankful that I get to be with you. I am grateful that you are no longer a victim of my demands and expectations and I am no longer a victim of your reticence.

There is so much pain and loss in our story but even more touches of grace and mercy, points where God preserved us. I see this now.

If I could go back 20 years ago I would receive that flower differently. I would try to show the proper reverance for the chance to hold a divine intervention. I would look you in the eyes and smile as I said silently, to God, thank you, thank you, thank you and, out loud, Happy Birthday, to you.