We heralded the boys with her news as they got off the bus. Grant congratulated her then walked inside where I found him a few moments later chewing on his lip and rolling questions through his brain. So I did what any mother does when her son wants to talk but doesn't know how to say the words: got the mitts and told him to meet me in the yard for some catch. So we talked salvation and forgiveness and how I believe it works as we tossed the ball and then he asked to pray too. And we did; him with his curly lips and me with my heart overflowing. Then back to catch, because that's how boys work. I told him to slow the pitches. That he was taking the skin of my hands. I told him, easy son. Sorry, he replied. And I'm your brother. And so he is.
And then Peter, as daylight faded into tomorrow and outside toys were being rounded up and corralled in the garage, found me in my bedroom where I was doing something totally materialistic (trying on the new pants I picked up at Anthro today) and asked in his quiet, shy way if he, too, could join in. If he could pray, just the two of us with no one watching. If he could not be left out. So we chatted a little while, him with sand in his fingernails from an afternoon spent flooding the sandbox, and me in my new pants with their surprising stretch. Chatted on my bedroom floor holding hands. And then prayed. And when we said Amen and I looked up, I was looking at my brother.
And Lulu, not to be upstaged, pulled off a miracle of her own and went potty on the toilet for the first time. Sort of a banner day all around.
This is me being real. And praising God for two new brothers and a new sister who grew in my tummy and nursed at my breast, but only just became a part of my family. How cool is God?