Sometimes God brings people into your life who speak your language,
the individual dialect of your personality.
Sometimes we birth those people.
Rose knows, in her wisdom of five years, how to interpret me.
She understands the puckered lips, the wide eyes, the slow calm, "Uh-huh."
We talk about fairies and flowers and other things that no one else really cares about.
She makes me laugh like my dad used to make me laugh, with a surprised gasp and then a trill of laughter.
For example, walking home from the antique store on Saturday, we passed a person smoking a cigarette.
"Smoking is bad, right Mommy?"
"Yes darling, smoking is terrible for your body and God wants us to take care of our bodies."
"I know it's bad Mommy, but I think I'm going to do it anyway when I grow up. If you see me could you remind me that I'm not supposed to?"
This morning I taught for three hours. I finally finished everyone up except Rowan who was still drawing a bat in his nature book. I slipped off to what would be called my "man cave" were I of a different gender, and started up my computer. I glanced at the clock and saw I had 20 minutes until I needed to make lunch. Perfect. Rose came in with a big smile and a bigger stack of books. Not so perfect.
"I thought you might want to read these to me."
"Rosy, mommy's been reading for three hours, I'm hoarse."
"I'll look at the pictures while I wait for you."
Hmmmm. I began typing but noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was fascinated by a picture in one of her books. I caught a glance of a huge dragon breathing fire at a little boy. I cringed, she's a sensitive soul, like her mommy, and gets nightmares from pretty much everything.
She turned wide eyes to me and said, "WHERE is his mommy!"
I pounced on her then. Holding her close I asked, "What are you going to become Rose?"
She answered, "A ballerweena. Maybe a princess." She caught my eye and said in her naughty voice, "I'm going to be a step-mother."
I've never met a child who wanted to be a step mother,
who thought they were probably going to smoke when they grew up,
who wanted to talk to irresponsible mommies about letting their little boys play with dragons.
It's the language of absurdities and shocking statements and gasping laughter.
It's way easier than French.
And I love that in a world full of personalities,
two of us nuts landed here,
Tonight I sang a song as I slid pumpkin chocolate chip cookies off a tray, "Ohhhh don't you know, we belong together, ohhhh."
Big hazel eyes looked up from the cookies and a little voice answered the question I didn't know I was asking, "Yes, I do know."
I know it, too.
We belong, here in this kitchen, in this life,