A Houseful of Girls

Published on Monday, November 9, 2009 in Dancing and crying and doing our hair and Husband Cruelty. 21 Comments

Mare is weeping.  The big-girl, struggle-to-hold-it-in kind.  Her arms are crossed firmly into her chest.

“What happened?” I ask.  They’re fresh from the back yard, and Ren is rubbing her back with a concerned little face.

“I failed,” she says in a tight voice.  “I can’t be the Queen of Spring.”

“Oh, no,” I say. 

“I kept trying, but I dropped them!”

“Hey guys!”  Cute Husband says, walking into the room.  He stops in the doorway.  “What wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Mare sobs.

“She kept dropping da fairies!”  Ren pipes in.  “And now she can’t be da Queen of Spring!”

“WAH!” Eden says.

“Er?” says Cute Husband.

“Please don’t be such a boy,” I say.  “This is a terrible crisis.”  Ren and I return to rubbing Mare’s back and cooing.

“I had the fairies in my hands and I was trying to work my magic but I kept dropping them, Momma and now I can’t be Queen!”

“Wah!” says Eden.

“Wait, Mare!” I say, “Eden is saying something!”

“Wah wah wah!”  goes Eden.

“Yes?”  I say.  “Really?  Okay. — Eden says, ‘Go find the flower that blooms in Fall.’”

“MOMMMAAA!!” Mare sobs.

“WAH! WAH WAH!!”

“Mare, GO!  She’s getting upset!!”  Mare and Ren scamper out the door, and then I turn my attention to Eden and nurse her.

Cute Husband stares, unblinking, from the same spot in the doorway. 

“Momma!!” Mare squeals, brandishing one of the pink flowers I saw sprouting in the planter — the result of unseasonably warm November afternoons.

“MOMMA!!” Ren squeals.  She has one, too.

“Try it!” I say.  They point their toes, they twirl, they leap.

“Did it work?”

“YES!  I am the Queen of Spring!”  Mare breathes.

“Holy shit,” says Cute Husband.

“Maybe you better go to the Man Cave,” I tell him. 

“I have no idea what just happened here,” he says.

“I know, honey, just, like, get a beer and watch the game or something.”

“Okay.  That’s what I’ll do.  Beer, game.”

“Ren!!  YOU ARE THE SNOW QUEEN!!”  They’re tossing petals and squealing.

“Excllent girls,” I say, “now who wants to paint nails?”

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