Last week was really terrible. My response to almost every situation was tears. I was miserable. One day, I went for a walk alone to the library and passed a house that had been decorated for Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras! The green, yellow, and purple decorations were festive and beautiful. Seeing it made me happy.
Over the weekend, things got better gradually. On Sunday night, I went out and bought supplies for Carnival masks. I thought to myself, that was it. I’m over (or through?) the pandemic wall. I’ve done enough grieving about not traveling this year. There’s no school this week. Things are going to be great. I’ll make a short to-do list and be kind to myself about it. I’ll be less stressed because I won’t be doing school with the kids in addition to feeding, supervising, and managing my household. Maybe I’ll want to craft again!
She’s ten today.
This is the kid who made me breakfast this past week without being asked.
Who cares for her baby brother without a second thought, a special bond they’ve had since his birth.
She is a graceful dancer, a thoughtful and caring person. 
When things going smoothly at home, it’s often related to her – an idea she had to keep everyone occupied, or because she helped prepare a meal or snack. She is one of just a couple kids in our house who cleans up without being asked, and is a quiet and capable helper.
This is a kid who needs her alone time and often retreats to her room to play or read.
She’s expressive. She’s the one who often best knows how to read people, intuiting what they want or need.
She’s grown up this year, gaining maturity and starting to look and act like a Big Kid. Really, she’s the one who made us a Big Family and put us out of our depth in the first place, then helped us realize that we could, in fact, do this. She continues to be the grease on the wheels, the quiet force that keeps things moving.
We love her so much.
The night Six was born, I hummed through labor. It was a single note with each contraction, in the same key. I wondered what note it was. Not long before, I’d heard a piece on NPR about the note nature hums in, and it was B flat. Could it be that I was humming with the universe without even knowing it? At some point, I was able to ask the Chaplain, who has perfect pitch, what key I was humming in.
It was B flat. The note that excites alligators. The note that black holes hum (in a very, very low octave).
Six came into the world not long after that, after a brief, intense labor. As he was being born, my first thought was that his nose was enormous.
His face isn’t the only thing that sets him apart from his siblings. His personality is a shower of sparks, a hurricane of energy, deep feeling, and stubborn determination.
As number six, he’s always been surrounded by an entourage. Since he was a baby, his siblings have loved to entertain him because of the faces he makes in response.
He has been spoiled and placated at times, and he manages to squeeze equal amounts of fury and nurturing from everyone in the family.
I’ve lost count of the number of photos I found with him in the hiking backpack, either in the kitchen, or on the trail. 
He was as likely to be on Dad’s back as Mom’s.
He is the kid who from the time he was small, has screamed bloody murder at bath time, but loves water.
He got all the extra cuddles because we thought he’d be our last.
He’s so young that it’s hard to imagine the person he’ll grow up to be. He can be impossible. He shows us his tough side, then melts into tears. I’m often puzzled by how to parent him in a way that leaves us both sane.
He has moments of pure joy. There are the times when he just lets me hold him. And he fights sleep passionately, then powers down on the spot wherever his body finally shuts off.
I want the best for Six, as I do all my kids. He certainly broke the mold when he was born, entering as he did to the hum of the universe. Like his siblings, he is a fighter, a stalwart soldier.
He wants things a certain way and can’t be convinced the way our other kids usually can be to just do what he’s being asked. I’ve been in more fights with him, and let him win more of them, than with any other person (adult or child) in my life.
Six, you confound and challenge us. We love you so much. You are a square peg, and we know those angles are the gifts that make you unique and will make you an amazing grown up.
Photo credits: feature image, Lindsey Crandall Photography. First image in post, my midwife.
Just before Christmas last year, I was surrounded by stuff to do, and I wasn’t doing enough of it. I was sitting in a pile of my own expectations and failing to measure up. And I was listening to Pandora’s Pentatonix Holiday station.
I’m still listening to Pentatonix Holiday radio. This year, I have the paid version and no longer have to listen to creepy Subway ads. When I don’t feel like Christmas music, I listen to something else instead of listening to holiday songs out of some strained sense of loyal obigation.
We decorated our tree just days before Christmas. I didn’t go with my family to pick it out.
Where do I start with this kid?
Four was my first rainbow baby, coming after two miscarriages. He was the first kid we had to “try” for. He was born with not one, but TWO nuchal hands.
This is a true middle child, with three older sibs, and three younger ones. He has proven to be a teammate, a friend, and a thoughtful comrade. He was One’s first brother after two sisters.
When I was trying to help him scrape out a condiment bottle one recent afternoon to get the rest, he stopped me. He didn’t want to take it all and leave none for his sister.
He moves seamlessly between the older kids and the younger ones. He learned how to ride a bike at age four with encouragement and help from his older sibs. So far, he’s the only kid who’s taking after the Chaplain and learning to play the piano.
This sweet boy is always “hummy” as he used to say, learning how to read, and endlessly thoughtful and diligent. He wears two hairbands on his wrist because one time in his hip hop class last year, his teacher needed a hairband and didn’t have one, and he wanted to be prepared if that ever happened again. He was wearing hairbands on his wrist for months before I found out the reason behind them. It reminded me of this story.
If you’re wondering what a Saga Boy is, according to the Urban Dictionary, it’s “A guy who likes to dress up nice. ” It’s a Tobagonian turn of phrase. In American English, I’m not aware of any words that describe a guy who is a classy dresser without having any negative implications (I kept coming up with “dandy,” which is definitely NOT Four. “Dapper” didn’t seem quite right, either.) The way my sister-in-law described it when she told me, a saga boy is a guy who always looks nice and dresses well no matter where he’s going. And while Four has his little boy moments with camo and t-shirts with sports slogans, he is the guy who can generally be relied upon to look good when we are going somewhere, with no direction from me. He has a great sense of style. And the true joy he gets from hanging out with his family makes his face shine and completes the look.
These characteristics – his style, his kind heart and professional sibling status, and his bottomless stomach – are unique parts of him that make him such a precious soul. We love him and are privileged to have him in our brood. Happy Birthday, Young Man.
