but I can tell she’s frazzled. She says her children have been home from her mother’s for an hour and her mom just left, and that worries me. Already she looks like whatever energy she’s given them in the past few minutes is all she has in her. The respite from them will do her some good.
Renée’s children are so tiny and full of energy, and they fling themselves at Chloe and Caden when we walk in the door. Noah, who’s four, insists on wearing his Spiderman wellies, and Renée apologizes and discreetly slips me his sneakers. Grady protests, but we both shoot him the mom glare and he shrugs. In half a block, when Noah’s little legs are exhausted from stomping around in his boots, I’m going to remind him why mothers always know best.
When I wrap my arms around Renée she feels smaller, and boneless, as if Carl’s death has sucked the fight out of her. She attempts a wobbly smile and I murmur that I’ll come over later by myself to help out if she wants me to. She nods quickly, genuine relief in her eyes, and again I’m struck by the fact that she’s even coping. It’s nowhere near the same, but when Grady left I felt unmoored for so long. There were days I could barely pull myself out of bed. I’ve secretly scoffed at her faith in the past, but if that’s what’s getting her through this then I take back everything I ever thought.
“Will you be okay with Sophie?” I ask. “It’s a warm enough day… I could always take her with me for a little while and bring her back for her feeding.”
Renée shakes her head. “It’s okay,” she says. “Honestly, I can’t stand to have her away from me, not for a second. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but…” She bites her lip and glances over at her tiny daughter in Chloe’s arms. “I’m afraid if I take my eyes off her, she’ll disappear. Just like Carl.” Her blue eyes well with tears and she looks away.
“Honey, it’s fine,” I assure her. “You stay here with Soph, and we’ll go burn some energy off these other three little monkeys of yours, okay?”
She smiles gratefully and I gather the troops.
When our caravan finally leaves Renée’s house, we’re pulling a wagon and pushing an umbrella stroller and we have three backpacks between us. Despite Grady gently teasing me about overkill, I’m not spending thirty dollars on bottled water or bringing small kids into a porta-potty without baby wipes and hand sanitizer. And when Noah and Jacob are too worn out to walk home, the wagon and stroller will come in handy.
The little ones crunch happily through the fallen leaves, shrieking with delight when Cassie and Caden swing them over the curbs. Grady and I bring up the rear in companionable silence. Around us the colors blaze in the sunshine, and there’s just enough crispness in the air to feel like fall though it’s plenty warm enough for just light jackets or sweaters.
The downtown is full, people and dogs milling about and vendors lining the blocked-off square, hawking crafts and costumes and delicious fair food. I take photos on my phone of all five kids having their faces painted (Noah, of course, opts for Spiderman) and shrieking down the bouncy slide. At lunchtime we spread a couple blankets down on the bandstand lawn and devour a picnic of greasy fair food with all the other families.
Addie’s been glued to Chloe all morning and begs her older cousin to French braid her hair. My girl does me proud by buying some ribbons at a craft stall and weaving them into Addie’s long blond locks, singing to her while she does it, just like I used to do with her. As I watch her fingers twist nimbly through Addie’s hair, I’m overcome with nostalgia for the days when Chloe loved me and wanted me around all the time. Now she barely speaks to me, and any attempts I make to engage her are met with silence or hostility. I miss my happy little girl, and I only see glimpses of her when she’s with other people.
Grady kneels beside
Renée’s children are so tiny and full of energy, and they fling themselves at Chloe and Caden when we walk in the door. Noah, who’s four, insists on wearing his Spiderman wellies, and Renée apologizes and discreetly slips me his sneakers. Grady protests, but we both shoot him the mom glare and he shrugs. In half a block, when Noah’s little legs are exhausted from stomping around in his boots, I’m going to remind him why mothers always know best.
When I wrap my arms around Renée she feels smaller, and boneless, as if Carl’s death has sucked the fight out of her. She attempts a wobbly smile and I murmur that I’ll come over later by myself to help out if she wants me to. She nods quickly, genuine relief in her eyes, and again I’m struck by the fact that she’s even coping. It’s nowhere near the same, but when Grady left I felt unmoored for so long. There were days I could barely pull myself out of bed. I’ve secretly scoffed at her faith in the past, but if that’s what’s getting her through this then I take back everything I ever thought.
“Will you be okay with Sophie?” I ask. “It’s a warm enough day… I could always take her with me for a little while and bring her back for her feeding.”
Renée shakes her head. “It’s okay,” she says. “Honestly, I can’t stand to have her away from me, not for a second. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but…” She bites her lip and glances over at her tiny daughter in Chloe’s arms. “I’m afraid if I take my eyes off her, she’ll disappear. Just like Carl.” Her blue eyes well with tears and she looks away.
“Honey, it’s fine,” I assure her. “You stay here with Soph, and we’ll go burn some energy off these other three little monkeys of yours, okay?”
She smiles gratefully and I gather the troops.
When our caravan finally leaves Renée’s house, we’re pulling a wagon and pushing an umbrella stroller and we have three backpacks between us. Despite Grady gently teasing me about overkill, I’m not spending thirty dollars on bottled water or bringing small kids into a porta-potty without baby wipes and hand sanitizer. And when Noah and Jacob are too worn out to walk home, the wagon and stroller will come in handy.
The little ones crunch happily through the fallen leaves, shrieking with delight when Cassie and Caden swing them over the curbs. Grady and I bring up the rear in companionable silence. Around us the colors blaze in the sunshine, and there’s just enough crispness in the air to feel like fall though it’s plenty warm enough for just light jackets or sweaters.
The downtown is full, people and dogs milling about and vendors lining the blocked-off square, hawking crafts and costumes and delicious fair food. I take photos on my phone of all five kids having their faces painted (Noah, of course, opts for Spiderman) and shrieking down the bouncy slide. At lunchtime we spread a couple blankets down on the bandstand lawn and devour a picnic of greasy fair food with all the other families.
Addie’s been glued to Chloe all morning and begs her older cousin to French braid her hair. My girl does me proud by buying some ribbons at a craft stall and weaving them into Addie’s long blond locks, singing to her while she does it, just like I used to do with her. As I watch her fingers twist nimbly through Addie’s hair, I’m overcome with nostalgia for the days when Chloe loved me and wanted me around all the time. Now she barely speaks to me, and any attempts I make to engage her are met with silence or hostility. I miss my happy little girl, and I only see glimpses of her when she’s with other people.
Grady kneels beside
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