I need to write about Emma. The beautiful, wonderful 7 year old amazing well-rounded, giving, loving, singing, skateboarding, tumbling Emma. It's her birthday. 7 whole years and all is well.
She was home sick for her birthday today. Seems her biggest present was a double earache with a side of snotty nose. She's no trouble when she's sick. She only cries when she's in extreme pain, and that's when I dose her with coedine. We spent the day looking at "High School Musical" things to buy her for cheap on the internet. We watched "I Dream of Jeannie" and "Bewitched." ("Do you like the name Jeannie?" she asks. "I do," I say. "I do too," she says.) We did her homework together. We skedaddled to school to get Nathan and brought her cupcakes to give out to her class. When they saw her, her best buddy Brandon's face lit up and they all ran to her saying "EMMA!!" and crowding around her in a huge hug. She looked thrilled and humbled.
We decided to go to Oscar's for her birthday dinner. Daddy's been working on a music video and has been a ghost, we haven't seen him for three days. I told Emma she could go anywhere she wanted for her birthday dinner and she picked Oscar's cause she likes the breadsticks. Of course Oscar's is like 20 minutes down the 5 freeway at rush hour. The 5 freeway is like skiing clogged arteries with lead skis. I feel anxiety just thinking about the 5 freeway. And at 5 o'clock? Really, Emma? What if we went somewhere else, I suggest, lamely. She doesn't let her disappointment show. "It's okay," she says. "We don't have to go anywhere." This kills me. Of course we go. Screw traffic. The girl can barely hear with her ear troubles. I pack all three kids in the car. They're starving. They hate everything I cook. It's going to be great.
Magically, there is NO traffic in our direction. (But there will be traffic going back, my anxiety brain says. Shut up, my mom brain smacks my anxiety brain.)
At Oscar's they HAND you bread while you're waiting to order. I wish people handed me hot bread all the time, just for standing around. We order bread, pasta and salad, all Emma wanted. "Tell them it's my birthday," she whispers. I declare her birthday to all who will listen. They take on Emma like she's their queen. They comp the drinks (the kids drink buckets of root beer). They give Emma a heaping bag of breadsticks to take home, for free. Everyone makes a big fuss. And Emma is at her favorite place. With her family. The food is happy, warm, fast. Lilly shovels it in. The manager brings over a warm brownie and cookies and I put 7 candles in that I brought along. We sing quietly to her, just me and Lilly and Nathan. Lilly is so happy cause this is her favorite song. Emma blows out her candles. I ask her what she wished for. She tells me "I wished to be a mermaid and to be magic."
Nathan wants to know if we can go to Toys R Us nearby. I say okay. They can't believe it. I know we'll be out too late, but hey she's 7. We wander for too long. Get a thing that Emma can sing into and record her voice. I hope it works. On the way home Emma is crying because she wants to sing something at the talent show but she doesn't know what to sing. I tell her something simple. She decides on "Hit the Road, Jack" by Ray Charles. Then she cries because she can't remember the middle of it. We play it on the CD player. I forgot sometimes that she's so little, with her teeth missing, and her tiny 50 pound body. She seems so huge to me, a buoyant balloon of goodwill, and then things can unhinge her, like missing the words of a song. She actually is still my baby.
We get home, ready for bed, in bed. It must be hard to be Nathan, to be around a sister as basically even-keeled as Emma is. He has a need to dominate her at times, and she will fight back, but really she is a peacemaker. She'd much rather that he wrap her up and love her. When they are in the mood, though, they are the best of friends.
She blows her nose. The baby falls asleep. I tell Emma and Nathan about the days they were born, and what the day was like. What they looked like when they were brand new, just coming out into the world. How Nathan was blue and Emma looked mad. How lucky we felt to have both our babies, out with us. How Emma got a cold when she was just 2 days old. Just like she has a cold now, 7 whole years later. She falls asleep, Nathan falls asleep, this is the time of night where everything seems finished. A friend of mine said today how nothing in her life seemed like hers, it was all this chaos and piles of new stuff you adopt to make being a mom easier - weird cars you would never own, toys you don't need, balanced meals, schedules. It is all foreign, we're out on strange ice and everything around is white for miles. There's no way back, this is it. So part of us flails around and the biggest part (the other, smarter part) just sits right down and builds a fire to keep us all warm.
She wished to be a mermaid, and to be magic. My lovely, perfect girl.
