Together

Abby is balancing on the rock wall in our backyard, tipping herself this way, then that. She is completely unaware that her blonde locks are flowing like golden tendrils in the sky.

She has no idea she's beautiful.

Grayson, a dirty stick in each hand, is only paces ahead of her. He keeps looking back to make sure she hasn't slipped yet.

He has no idea he's the reason she feels so safe in a world that could swallow her whole but won't when he is by her side.

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On our way to school there is a mom, a teenage boy and a teenage girl, I imagine her son and her daughter, in the car next to ours. They are not talking. They are not smiling. They've reached the point in their relationships when all things are separate. Separate minds, separate private bodies, separate and probably polar opposite ideas about what is important, I imagine.

Is there any way around it?

I close my eyes to listen to my children in the backseat. Abby chatters sweetly and Grayson chooses the last three words of hers to repeat again and again.

"Stop it!" she demands.
"Stop it!" he mimics.

"Grayson Noooooooooooooooo!" Her eyes burn hot with tears.
Grayson Noooooooooooooooo!" he tries out in a voice meant to sound like hers.

I remain neutral and mute. Their symbiotic fussiness comforts me and allows me the chance to drive right past the car with all the flatness, the separate people, the people who prefer silence.

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"Wait in here with me until the tornado stops, Abby." Grayson rushes her in the sunroom and heaves the sliding glass door closed. "It will pass soon, the trees were bending super low, Mommy."

"I am still alive, Mommy. I have berries in my basket to get the torn-in-nado!" Abby beams.

Grayson eyes the trees leaning over and decides it's safer inside. He locks the sunroom door for good.

We are all together feeding off each others moods, interfacing expressions, and imaginative play.

The day impacts us all the same way and I know this can't last forever.

I will just pretend it does.