2-21-18 CORN SILK (My Beth)

My Beth 

She held my hand as we walked to the door, moaning that she did not want to leave, even though she had been here at Gummy and Gumpa's house most of the last two days.

"But Bethy, you're coming back tomorrow morning with your pre-school."

She let go of my hand as I bent down to talk to her. Her eyes lit with irresistible sparkles as she squealed, "Oh, I am so excited for my friends to meet you!"

Her hair is the human version of corn silk, platinum with highlights of gold, soft and straight, floating down over her little shoulders.

Today Gummy's house was the destination for the pre-school field trip. Beth's momma, my Annie, was in charge. Yesterday, however, was Annie's last day of work. It turned into a 13 hour day, with all sorts of emotions and exhaustion. I had told her that I would happily make this house into a field-trip-worthy spot. So I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning preparing songs and activities and such. Then, considerably earlier than I would have preferred, I was up and welcoming five delightful four-year-olds and their mommas for a morning of music.

After everyone had left, and we had vacuumed up all the spilled popcorn and emptied the musical water goblets, Annie put Tessa down for a nap in my bedroom and left to pick up Calvin from his own kindergarten field trip. I plunked myself down in our comfy leather recliner and sighed. Repeatedly.

As I sat in my stupor I looked over at my little silky-haired girl.

She is purity, and innocence and hope in a pale pink wrapping, her little bony knees curled up under her as she sat on my couch.

"How 'bout you come over here and let me snuggle you?" I asked, my heart pumping Gummy love faster and faster to my brain. She accommodated, climbing up into my lap and laying her golden head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her, breathing her in, praying that automatic prayer grand-women pray when they hold their treasures. Those kind of prayers do not use words. They speak the divine language of the heart alone. I sat there holding my Beth, consciously silent, allowing the communication to be true and pure and unfettered. She reached her little arms up to my neck and pulled me in closer. I cradled her slender body around my soft belly, holding her the way I hold her baby sister when I am feeding her a bottle of her mamma's milk. I patted her little bottom, the rhythmic pattern that my own mother used to use on me, and then my babies, then their babies. Beth's little girl fingers took up the beat and tenderly patted my shoulder as well. We danced this dance of love, up there off the floor, until her mom returned and Calvin bounded into the house ready to create his own musical shaker like the ones we had made with Beth's pre-school class.

Beth's Birth Day

Beth is just learning how to love me, really. She moved away to Spokane just after she was born. So far away from the regular visits to both of her sets of grandparents' houses. Each time we visited, she had to learn who we were, and how to feel as emotionally safe with us as her big brother did. Calvin had spent much time with all of us before he moved. With his steel-trap memory, he remembered every detail, good and bad, of his interactions with us since before he could talk. But Bethy; we were strangers that her family loved, and so she trusted and tried, but by the time she felt comfortable, we had to go home. Finally, late last summer, their daddy was promoted and moved to the Salt Lake branch and the Merrill kids had their own drawer in the dresser full of grandkids pj's and other emergency clothes at Gummy's house. They live seven minutes away, just on the other side of Farmington, at the base of the foothill under Flag Rock.

Calvin and Beth welcome baby Tessa

Monday, when Gumpa and I spent the day helping at Annie's house, Beth and I cleaned her room. I pulled out all of the shoes on the floor of her closet. She tried on every pair in an attempt to weed out the ones that were too small. I took those that did not pass the test and put them in a basket on the closet shelf. Day-after-tomorrow Tessa will be wearing those shoes. She will be sitting on my couch watching Octonauts or whatever the show-of-the-day might be, and I will call to her and ask her for a snuggle. By then Beth will be in second grade. I will snuggle her little sister until school is out, and then, if I am lucky, Tessa will scooch over and let Beth share my lap. And if I am very, very lucky, my wrinkled old neck will find those eight-year old arms thrown around it, her delicate mane of corn silk hair falling across my shoulder, with nothing but love spoken between us.

The Princess of Manito Park