April 19, 2014
Mommie’s epistles to her arguing muses…the First, Second, and Third Contraries.
Grace. My Gorgeous. My First Contrary. Oldest. Sissy. Seattle-sojourner. Deep waters. Artist. Keeper of secrets. Wanderluster.
You fight quietly…sometimes. You don’t give up on a fight. But you’re like me, you decide when you’ve fought enough on the outside, then you just go fight alone on the inside. Depression is your battle scar. Oh, for that to be your only scar! I’ve prayed over you silently while you sleep. Did you know? My arms outstretched trying to hold back whatever it is that pulls a razor blade into your fingers. “Oh Baby Girl, don’t cut yourself!” But I know that you can hide a razor blade in the skinniest of places; all you need is a few minutes alone and some toilet paper to wipe up the blood. But even without a blade, your mind can be your weapon. And someday you’ll be gone. I don’t think the Pfafftown can hold you. Not like your Mommie can. And I’ll remember you, my quiet warrior, from a chilly Monday night softball game when the storm was rolling in and you laid your head in my lap and let me stroke your hair.
Lauren. My Lovely. My Second Contrary. Truly the Middlest child. Missy. Lover of all things culinary. Preemie. Too much of this. Not enough of that. Historian. My deer in headlights. OCD. Mommie’s neat freak. Closet extrovert. Snuggler extraordinaire.
You fight invisible enemies. Doubt in yourself is your battle scar, and you cloak yourself in anxiety as your weapon. A typo can send you into a tailspin. Doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else if it makes sense to you. I’ve prayed over you while you sleep. “Please be brave tomorrow!” You’re the only one who understands what “clean your room” means. And you’re like me. I will fluff sofa cushions when I can’t make everything else make sense. I wonder why you would chose softball when you have such a hard time dealing with life’s curveballs. You’re the one who secretly wants to run away, but you doubt your direction and quickly run back to safety. There are places in a mommie’s heart that smile when babies stay close by. But you’ll have to go someday, and someday you’ll be ready. And I’ll remember you on the monkey bars, my long-legged girl, feet dangling 6 inches above the safety of the ground, but still yelling for me to hold onto you in case you fall.
Oh Emily! My Enchanting. My Third Contrary. Littlest. Prissy. Surprise. The Wild Child. Fearless. Loose cannon. Mathematician. Curve ball. Flirt. Stubborn.
You will fight anybody. It’s all about being right. Fear is your battle scar, and control is the weapon you use to beat the crap out of fear. You’ve got 2 fantastic sisters figuring it all out before you, and you battle to be an explorer in your own right. Your fear is that there won’t be anything left for you to discover, so you race ahead and try to jump their claims. But you can claim the seizures all to yourself! They’re beyond your control, though. You’re the least like me, but I could sure stand to be more like you. Tenacious and adventurous. You can do it yourself! And I’ve prayed for you, too, while your angels watch you through the night. “Please keep this one safe,” because it will be you jumping out of a plane, or cliff diving, or bungee jumping, or whatever. But when you land, come home for a bit. And I will remember you, my risk taker, on the first day of kindergarten when you cried and were too scared to get out of the car and needed me to hold your hand.