“When Mommy’s old and shrively will you carry me too?” I ask my four-year old son hoisting him onto my side while walking into Whole Foods Market.

“Oh don’t ask me that anymore!” he snaps back annoyed, before instructing firmly: “When you’re OLD and shrively I will, but not while I’m a kid.”

I chuckle to myself at the response. I remember the first time his solid frame led me to ask that question. His face took a contemplative look before he eagerly offered “Yes!” with a jubilant smile. I think he too envisioned the “big and strong man” he hopes to become.

He and I are running errands together having left his two sisters home with Dad. It’s a rare excursion out for just the two of us. When he requested that I carry him I was tempted to lecture about how he’s a big boy and can walk. Maneuvering a clunky metal shopping cart one-handed is just never appealing.  I look at him from the corner of my eye, “Are you tired?”

“No,” he rubs his cheek against mine. “I just want you to carry me.” He leans his head in the crook of my neck before opting to keep his cheek pressed against mine as we continue on our way.

Together we meander down the aisles discussing what vegetables he hates, what apples to buy his sisters and what’s still on the list, all the while our heads leaning together, cheek-to-cheek. While we wait our turn in the meat department, I remind myself to take a moment to take in this moment. I feel William’s warm breath as he asks about the various meats, a butter-soft cheek pressed close and little arms resting on my shoulders. Tomorrow he may opt to never be carried but for now I have my little boy.

On the ride home he calls over the Jack Johnson music, “Mommy, I’m going to die the same time as you.” I repeat what I heard for clarification and he simply offers, “Yes.” I look back in the rear-view mirror and catch a glimpse of his content, smiling face looking out the window.

The next night while turning out the light I assure that I’ll come back and snuggle once he’s asleep. “Do other boys have their Mommies come back and snuggle?”

The question catches me off guard. Already feeling the pressure of peers? Just yesterday it seemed that he asked me to stay and snuggle. Wait, it was yesterday, so, “Yes,” I readily and assuredly reply.

“And ugh, I don’t need these things here anymore. Just give them to Grace!” he offers while flinging two stuffed animals off of his bed. I find myself actually feeling a pang of sadness for these once loved stuffed creatures, coveted Henry the bear and Telly the cat whose roles have suddenly shifted from loved ones to just things. But I take my cue and assure William that his little sister Grace will take good care of Henry and Telly.

For all that I love to watch my children stretch and grow I hold tight to these moments of a soft cheek pressed close and little hands reaching out.  Life in this stage is a rhythm of holding tight to memories and continually letting go so my children can stretch and grow. And somewhere in this rhythm I will continue to find my groove by taking my cue from them.

By Maija Threlkeld

Labels: cheek-to-cheek, four-year old son, groove, Jack Johnson, little boy, Maija Threlkeld, sisters, vegetables, Whole Foods Market

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Recently my sisters and their families came to visit.

The entire trip from landing to departure was entirely about our children, the cousins, and the pure joy they had being with each other.

The brother-in-laws got on extremely well.

My sisters and I acted the same as when we were the ages our children are now.

My sister, Robyne, a psychologist, came out of my bedroom, her arm adorned with my silver bracelets.

“Did you know you had these?”

I gave her an RU kidding look.  “Of course I now I have – notice the present tense? – that jewelry.”

“Oh, just wondering,” she said.

“You want them, right?” I asked.

She quickly nodded her head, as her eyes grew wide and a smile, like a rainbow, appeared. “You can have them,” I said, since I never wore them.

At Sea World, my new wide-brimmed hat got completely soaked.

My youngest sister, Heidi, was staring at me.

“It’s the hat, right?” I asked.

“It looks wet,” she said “Not that it doesn’t look good,” she quickly added.

“But it doesn’t look crisp, does it?” I asked.

“Not crisp,” she agreed.

“You want it, right?” I said.

“I want it,” she quickly added. I later gave it to her, along with a Movado watch that needed to be fixed.

Robyne, who fixes peoples’ psyches for a living, wanted to know why it was fair for Heidi to get my Movado watch. She asked this while gesturing with her own Movado watch on her wrist.

“Must I answer this?” I wondered.

“Unfair,” insisted Robyne.

“Look, you got ALL of Mom’s jewelry when she died and ALL of Aunt Natalie’s diamonds. Heidi got nothing.”

Robyne “claimed” this was untrue. Heidi and I gave her each other knowing looks.

“We all have nice watches except for Heidi. I’m giving her the Movado.”

That evening, my sisters, who give new meaning to the word “shopaholic,” insisted that we go purse shopping. Robyne had a slight stain on her five-month old Coach bag and asked the cashier if she could remove it. In so doing, Robyne pointed out that the woman only made it worse. Somehow, she not only walked out with a new purse, but in a different color.

“Do you know I got that purse for $60 less in Chicago?”

No, but somehow yes.

Onto Nordstrom where Heidi, feeling deprived with her no-name purse, was determined to get a deluxe one. Robyne had her Coach, I had a Prada, a gift from a friend, and Heidi had a cheap one. She eyed a Michael Kors. It was a little over three hundred dollars.

The people behind the counter and Robyne and I were pushing Heidi to buy it.

“I have to ask my husband,” she said.

We all screamed out, “Never ask your husband! That’s a sure noooooo!!!”

My husband, John, answered the phone as Heidi asked to speak to her husband, Bob, but not before my husband said to her husband, “It’s your wife. She wants to know how much money she can spend.”

John told me later Bob dropped his hand into the bill of hand and shook his head.

“Heidi, please. We’ve already spent a fortune on this vacation. Please, don’t do this to me.”

“We told you,” we all said to her, as she put the purse back with a sad face. I also pointed out that instead of buying four or five crappy purses, why not buy one really nice one, so she wouldn’t need to keep buying so many.

She’s a shopaholic. She can’t help it. She needs to keep buying them.

At home the boys were running around the kitchen island and snapping towels at each other, gym style, while the girls were in my daughter’s room playing with some of her five thousand stuffed animals. John and Bob were watching sports.

My sisters and I opened a bottle of wine and sat on the deck, staring at the last lights over Mt. Tam. It was our final night together. It had been a long, intense, non-stop week of vacation.  More importantly, it was time spent together. Other than my two best friends, I never laugh more than I do with my sisters, and nobody knows me better than they do.

Oh, sure, we fight. We’re sisters. But we love. Deeply. We act the same as we did when we were in single digits as we do now in advanced double numbers.

Next year we’re thinking about taking a family vacation on Cape Cod. I don’t know. I only know that when we’re together there is a familiarity borne through pain, suffering, misery, laughter, accomplishments and genuine pleasure in each others’ happiness.

Despite all that we’ve seen, all that we’ve done, when we are together, we are young again.

We remain children, just like our kids. I can’t imagine us ever growing up.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: By Dawn Yun, family fun, sisters

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The big bad wolf’s name is Schizophrenia. I know this because he tried to gobble up my older brother when he was just 14 young years old. Not in one gulp, but in an erratic pattern of gnawing and howling, followed by moments of satiation we could describe as calm (or at least calmer).

That wolf wreaked havoc on our family. When he was around he was just plain scary. And annoying. Being a kid I wanted to blame my brother for becoming a wolf, though he hadn’t and I knew that, too. Sometimes it was hard to tell by his actions whether it was the wolf’s fault or my brother’s or a combination of the two. How could he not take on wolf characteristics with that darn creature trying to invade him?

In 5th grade I made the mistake of confiding in a best friend about the big bad wolf. I felt incredible relief and trust. The next day on the playground while waiting in line for four square another girl called out, “Your brother is RETARDED.” Real loud. I was tempted to correct her and tell her to blame the blasted wolf but what did she know?

After all, how do you describe a big bad wolf trying to gobble up your brother in quiet suburbia? Who would understand? And who could understand? I closed off and told no one about the wolf invading our home. I was also afraid that my peer group would see me as part of some wolf pack rather than as a member of an actual real-life smiling, loving, healthy family.

Just like in the Three Little Pigs story that wolf has tried to “blow our house in.” But somehow, he’s never managed to crumble my parents’ marriage or dismantle our family tree. Thanks to modern medicine and the blessing that it is, medications have taken most of his huffing and puffing away. He’s just a weak wolf now, though he’s still there.

My brother has had that wolf at him for over 30 long years now. I wish it would just finally, finally go away.

By Maija Threlkeld

Labels: brothers, family, schizophrenia, sisters

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