Slingshot through my heart

Life has been hectic lately. just the normal hectic stuff, but there are always little reminders each day that bring into focus what really matters.

Monday morning I had to go to the lab, routine blood work for my annual physical that I was months late in scheduling. Reni and Anika wanted to come with. Anika asked if there would be candy. The waiting room was packed and they waited like champs, blissfully unaware of the news cycle blaring on flat screen TVs about the massacre in Orlando that had happened the night before. I was grateful to field questions about candy, and about a mentally disabled young man who walked in on the arm of his elderly caretaker. When it was time for me to have blood drawn, Anika slipped up against the wall with a clear view of the needle and a smile to the phlebotomist. Reni lowered his eyes and scuttled to my side. 'Can I hold your hand, mama? So you don't get scared?'

Heart. Melted.

Anika was quick to answer, with a bit of uncertainty, 'It doesn't really hurt, Reni. Does it, mama?' She came to his side and put her arm around him. 'You can have some of my candy,' she told him.

oh. my. heart. (Nevermind that there was no candy. Like the phlebotomist said, those kids are sweet enough. They were thrilled with the stickers.)

Then today, after a long morning teaching and trying unsuccessfully to outsmart Miami traffic, I came home to Anika making slingshots out of hangers. 'Look, mama, I made one for Reni and one for me. Wanna see how I made them?'

Here she is showcasing her creation.

And then there is Roman, who I still refer to as the baby but whose photo appears in the dictionary under the word 'adorable screeching running thing covered in yogurt,' (if such a word existed, of course. Which it totally should). He can say 'juice' and 'jump' and 'cookie' and is working hard on 'pig,' 'duck' and 'toothbrush.' He absolutely thinks he is at least 4 years old and is completely frustrated that we don't seem to recognize this fact. He wakes up in the morning, still way too close to dawn for my liking, laughing. That toothy smile of his bursts out when he sees his sister and brother, or when daddy gets home and Roman runs across the living room to throw his arms around Armando's legs, laughing like it is the funniest thing in the world. He even has a forced laugh, which he pulls out when he doesn't understand why you're laughing and wants to join in, or when he thinks you are doing something that will make you laugh at any moment and wants to join in.

He also gets frustrated -- a lot -- as toddlers who think they're four are wont to do. And I'd like to call up Google and see if they can crowd source an idea for getting this kid to sit down and eat already. I had to ditch the high chair, but he sees the new booster seat as an insult and now refuses to eat unless walking around throwing food everywhere like Cookie Monster or perched atop the table, feeding Anika bites of his food with his fork. Laughing that toothy, pleased-as-punch laugh of his.