Sunshine Almost Always

The sun poured in every window today. The cats stretched themselves out from head to tail in front of the glass door. Alex's "egg-head" filled with grass seed sprouted in the bay window and even Alex moved himself to a spot where he could bask in the golden glory. I can't remark on the temperature outside - we were all sick and never left the house - but from the inside, it looked and felt as if spring might actually return after all.

And it felt that way in our family too. It was a golden day. We could feel the impossibility beginning to thaw and something beautiful beginning to bloom.

It didn't start that way. As I said, we all awoke in various states of the same illness. Alex and Cate coughing. My head feeling the size of China and ready to burst. Steve reporting he was two days behind me. Alex announced it was all Cate's fault. Snarled at me. Pointed at his sister and ended up in time-out on the stairs before I could put the tea kettle on to boil. Moments later, Cate found herself in "time-in" on the couch for unprovoked hitting of her brother. And while I struggled to get the tea kettle filled and to the stove, I dragged two children along with me, one clinging to each leg, not out of their pure love for me, as I would have liked, but out of spite for each other.

At 8:30 a.m., up for less than thirty minutes, I looked at the clock and calculated the hours until bedtime. There were many. Oh so many.

But, then something happened. Maybe it was the sun pouring in the window, pulling us all out of the early spring snow-storm depression that brought sloppy snow and (YES) a snow day for Alex on Friday. Maybe it was the silent prayer, that was more like a plea for mercy. Maybe it was a week of patient and, lets be honest, not always so patient persistence with these two new siblings. Maybe it was all three. But the moods shifted and the day became one we won't forget.

The morning passed without much ado. We ate lunch. Cate went down for a nap. Alex and I did a craft... Alex even creating a picture that said, "Mom I Love U," much to my joy after the previous day's harsh rejection. The first good sign, I suppose, was that this all felt normal. Not forced or determined. The next good sign came when Alex asked after about an hour, if Cate was still asleep. She was. A big sigh. "Well, you can't just leave her up there all day you know," her new advocate reported huffily. Hmmm.... was he missing her?

We finished the craft. Spilled hot chocolate all over it. Cleaned up. And Cate was awake. Steve brought her down. She looked unhappy, and when she is unhappy, she looks injured, but not like a baby bird, she looks injured like someone looking for a trial lawyer willing to sue the pants off someone. When Cate is unhappy with something, the person responsible is given a look that leaves no doubt in his mind that what he is done is beyond unacceptable in her eyes. I am not sure where or how she learned to give a look like this, but I pity her boyfriends, her husband, her children and all of those of us along the way that she turns it upon. This look can come out of no where. It can be given in response to a green bean offered up at dinner. It can be given to someone who has been making her laugh, but tried to tickle her one too many times. It is given to her brother for almost everything. It is given to me when I take something (like a tube of lip gloss found in my coat pocket) out of her hand. And after the nap today, we will all recipients of THE LOOK just for looking at her. It didn't look promising.

But the sun did its work on her too. I brought her into the living room and put in a Baby Einstein DVD a friend has dropped off. It is about simple, everyday words, and shows the sign language for each word... maybe she could sign before she could speak... well, Cate wasn't interested, but Alex (the one we have rented 27 movies for during the past two days so he could rest, but not one of them could hold his attention for 15 minutes) was captivated. Go figure. Cate, instead, took off her socks and shoes. You cannot keep socks or shoes on this girl. She takes them off and then she puts them back on with skill and dexterity not often found in a two-year-old. She does this in her crib, in the car, anyplace. She needs no toys. Only socks and an occasional tissue or two. So, she took off her socks. And then mine. And she tried to put her socks on my feet. "They are two small," I said. "Put them on Alex." I knew I was taking a big risk here. At the every least, I would get THE LOOK. At the worst, she would touch him when he didn't want to be touched and all peace would be lost. But Cate laughed. Said "Al-yay," and ran to him. Putting socks on the small feet of a big brother is a challenge. And so, she put them on his hands. And he let her. And then, my heart skipped a beat, and so did Steve's. Cate took Alex by the hand, and hand-in-hand they walked to the other room. We both held our breath. And then we heard laughter. Two children laughing. A minute later, she led Alex back. His face had brightened, like the day. "I guess she likes me!" he said. And I saw so much anger dissolve. He had finally been accepted by his sister and it changed everything. They played like this for a long time. He made her laugh. She made him laugh and we all laughed together.

At dinner, Alex said, "In my heart, my heart is telling me I love Cate a little bit." (We've done a lot of talking about what is in our hearts recently). At bedtime, he searched his room for something to give her and settled on my 1988 MVP volleyball trophy, which might seem like small potatoes to you, but to Alex, this is a golden statue. The greatest of awards. As I read Cate a bedtime story, he carried it proudly into her room and announced that he was giving her the "honor of putting it on her book shelf for five days." Little did I know in 1988 the true reward of that trophy would come twenty years later.

And while I know this is just the beginning, that not all days can be like today, tonight, they went to sleep as friends - as a brother and a sister who love each other, just a little bit, in their hearts.

As we watched the relationship blossoming earlier, Steve looked over at me and said quietly, "We are going to be okay. We are a good family." And a good family is what we were today.