There was a knock at the door. Before I could answer, I found a woman of bohemian appearance, standing in the foyer. She had dreadlocks and carried a lot of bags. She greeted me and then asked if this were a place that cared for animals. “I saw a cat outside and the wheel chair ramp” she said, “so, I figured this is a place that takes care of animals.” I found myself thinking, certainly, that makes perfect sense. A cat and a handicap ramp, why wouldn’t someone come to the conclusion it’s a place for disabled felines and other furry creatures (cats in wheel chairs at the very least).
I explained to her that this is our home. I told her, that, despite what it looks like, it is not a facility for crippled cats or any other kind of challenged animals. She apologized profusely as she tip toed backwards, out the door, repeating in a whisper, “Sorry, sorry sorry”. Our 23 year old son, Sonty, just looked at me and said, “Do you think maybe we should keep our doors locked?” “Perhaps we should,” I replied, “but if we do that, we might miss out on entertaining angels unawares.” (Hebrews 13:2).
On an unusually warm day this past May, I had to pick up our seven year old grandson, Lucas, from school. This takes a bit of orchestrating because, on any given day, there are three or more other kids that have to accompany me on this excursion. This day it was 22 month old, Xavier, aka ‘Zabor’, two point five year old Amelia and Lucas’ four year old sister, Evelyn. It was hot in the car. Evelyn decided to take off her shirt. Lucas, exasperated with his little sister’s disrobing, shouted in alarm, “Evelyn, you can’t do that in real life!”
What constitutes real life anyway? Certainly not fake news, boobs, noses, nails, lashes nor the way we often use social media to embellish our otherwise ordinary lives and mask our imperfections. Maybe real life is our beat up, worn out, naked selves with all our vulnerability loved, like the Velveteen Rabbit, in a way that makes us real. After all, the great spiritual traditions say God loves us just the way we are (and so does Billy Joel). In any case, Evelyn retorted to her brother with gusto, “Lucas, you’re not the boss of me! I can do whatever I want.” And she can. She’s a red head. No one in his right mind should mess with a red head… in real life.
When we think of a miracle, we usually think of something improbable or impossible. We think of those extraordinary events like water into wine (one of our favorites); the inexplicable cure from a terminal disease, a blind person recovering sight, the Phillies winning, your kid listening the first time he or she is told to do something, beating the odds to win the lottery, St. Anthony finding a long lost something or other or, for me, drinking my coffee while it’s still hot, a minute alone in the bathroom, two minutes passing without the word “Mom”.
An ordinary miracle is when the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. One plus one equals a thousand. This is a perfect description of our eight year old daughter, Rosey. If her individual parts were for sale, they’d all be on the “as is” rack. Crossed eyes, short leg, missing septum pellucidum (Trust me you need a septum pellucidum…Google it!) leaks like sieve and talking with her is like playing a round of Mad Gab. Put them altogether and you have a miracle! Magical, holy, inspirational. But, just for the record, our ordinary miracle, Rosey, was also not expected to see or walk or talk. So she’s an extraordinary miracle as well. With her we did win the lottery. Blessing!
Our eight year old daughter, Rosey, loves to sneak my phone and send texts. Usually, they go to a family member. Most often they are gibberish mixed with emojis. Tonight, however, one of her texts went to a number I didn’t recognize. The content of her text was “A..s on your face.” The return text inquired, “Who is this!?” I quickly realized it was the lady from whom I’d purchased an antique typewriter on Craigslist. I immediately sent her an apology about Rosey and explained about her special needs. She answered that she herself is a Special Ed teacher and perhaps Rosey was connecting with an energy they both shared. You bet your a..s! To me it was just a silly covfefe. Sometimes, I think our world could use one universal auto-correct. Enjoy!
According to our daughter, Ebony, I have a flat butt. She asked me if this was because I sat on it too much. Seriously, Ebony? This butt hasn’t met up with a couch since Washington crossed the Delaware. That is an exaggeration, but sometimes it seems like that long ago, back when there were no children, no pets, and no home for which to care. It is almost impossible to imagine such a time, and frankly it must have been quite boring.
In reality, days in this house begin at 5AM and end around midnight give or take an hour. By 8 AM, we’ve already put in a full day. Four kids have been sent off to school. And these aren’t “normal” kids. There is Salinna with her cerebral palsy, a total care child in a wheelchair. Salinna is sixteen now and she is a typical teenager. She hates to get up in the morning and she won’t do a thing for herself! We ask her if she stayed up late talking with her friends on fb. (This is a joke. Salinna doesn’t walk or talk, but if she did…!) And then there’s dear Alex who wakes up asking for donuts or cupcakes. We think donuts and cupcakes are a perfectly fine choice for breakfast, but , of course, meds must be taken first. “No like medicine!” “None of us like medicine, Alex, but if you want to stay on this side of the grass for awhile, you have to take your medicine. No medicine, no cupcake.” Finally after this back and forth a few times he takes his medicine and states “I don’t wanna play outside”. Whatever. Then it’s time to feed the cats, walk the dogs, toss in a load of wash from the bed wetters’ club, followed by a regular load of wash and then feed and water Hazel, the horse and clean her corral. And if it is not every other day, there is no shower. Mothers and fathers do not need daily showers. They just need to wash the body parts that show. And that does not include a flat butt. Next, it is time for little Rosey to be on her way. Rosey likes the whole family to see her off to school, so whoever is available is beckoned to watch for bus #46 no matter how long the wait . Just after this, it is time to wake up Ebony who frequently can be heard running on her treadmill or practicing her vocals at 4AM. And so it usually takes a stick of dynamite to get her out of bed and sometimes that isn’t even enough. The bus driver will often offer to ride around the block to give Ebony a few more minutes to get ready. It would be an understatement to say that Ebony is not a morning person!
On most days, before this off to school routine is complete, our grandchildren Lucas and Evelyn (aka Devilyn) are arriving for Memere’s (my grandmother name) day care. Evelyn is the stereotypical redheaded two and a half year old, who is a whirling dervish, from the time she touches down at Memere’s until she is beamed back up to her parents at 6PM. And did I mention our baby granddaughter, Amelia lives with us along with her mom and dad? We watch her only on days ending in Y. At nine months old, with a speedy crawl, she’s become our resident “dustbuster”.
The day is filled with diapers, drop in visitors, occasional disasters and dinner. A drop in might be Freddy Love who first met us at a yard sale we held a few years ago. No telling when Freddy will come by but when he does he updates us about his wife who ran off with their pastor, or how he can cut down our trees for $800 or his plans to buy a million dollar house in Florida. Until his recent death, another drop by visitor was our friend Mr. Ray, self described as “the smartest man in the universe”. Ever since he did some electrical work for us a decade ago, he’d stop by on a whim or by a directive from God for cake and tea. He was a man familiar with little miracles. Not infrequently, Ms Georgia, the eccentric boarder who lives in the loft above the garage stops by at midnight to ask us to move the car or to drop off her rent money. In our universe, these unplanned visitors never fail to correspond with the disaster of the day. (lost pacifier, overflowing toilet, dog or kid or both barfing, pot boiling over, Evelyn disappearing, Evelyn in the snack cabinet, Evelyn wrapped in toilet paper and usually several of these concurrently).
So, dear Ebby, no buts about it, this butt is not a couch potato butt; but a butt worked to the bone.
Do you know the birthday of the actor who is the voice of Slinky in the movie, Toy Story? Our daughter, Ebby, does. She also knows the birth dates and half birth dates of everyone she has ever met and the same about their neighbors and friends. Ebony knows trivial details about most celebrities. Ebby, as she prefers to be called, remembers conversations in great detail, no matter how long ago they happened, and the specifics of the settings in which they took place. Ebby can also spout off the dates of every medical appointment to which she or her siblings have ever been. She knows the day of the week any particular date falls on in years past and future. She’s a virtual “wiki brain”.
Ebony recently celebrated her sixteenth birthday, sweet sixteen. And sweet she is. When she came to us, Ebby weighed just four and a half pounds . Now she tops the scales at two hundred plus pounds. Who knew that such a tiny infant girl would grow up to be so large and in charge? With the New Year, Ebby resumed a gym workout program at the local YMCA. She is big and funny and wears lots of makeup . Sometimes I think she looks like a lady of the night . She thinks she looks absolutely stunning . She carries a bright pink shiny bag to enhance the look.
Ebby is a Facebook stalker. Talk to her one time and suddenly, she is your best friend . She will know everything about you…your birthday, your half birthday, where you live, who lives with you, and many random details about your life. Don’t have any other friends either. You have become hers and hers alone! She is a piece of work for sure.
Ebony has been diagnosed on the autistic spectrum scale. She says she is “artistic” , not “autistic”. And that she is. Ebony creates beautiful pieces of art filled with vibrant color and amazing detail. She produces mounds of drawings, staying up into the wee hours of the morning working diligently. Ebony has sold some of her artwork to raise funds to purchase a magic hairspray that supposedly helps her hair to grow.
Ebby is also a master baker and she is the reigning Queen of Cupcakes. Everybody, even random acquaintances, gets cupcakes for every occasion. She is crazy about the boy band , One Direction. She takes weekly vocal lessons and it is not unusual to be awakened at 3 AM to the sound of her practicing her singing in true Aretha Franklin style. It is no wonder that her father dozes off at work most afternoons. And we’re not really sure how to take this, but Ebony asked us if she could have sperms for pets. We told her she could but only if she agreed to walk and feed them everyday.
Ebby calls her dad FCC not to be confused with Federal Communications Commission. In this instance, it means French Canadian Cruel because her dad is French Canadian and she says he looks like Claude Frollo, the cruel master, in the Hunchback of Notre Dame. This is not so bad a comparison considering Ebby likens her sister, Salinna, to Squidward from SpongeBob SquarePants. Ebby calls me Class of 1970 instead of Mom because it is the year I graduated from high school.
Ebony is able to recite lengthy passages of dialogue from every movie she has ever watched and she can often be heard talking to herself, repeating a favorite line over and over. “Excuse me. Are you looking at me? Did you rub my lamp? Did you wake me up? Did you bring me here? And , all of a sudden, you’re walking out on me? I don’t think so! Not right now! You’re getting your wishes.” (Alladin). There’s no kid like our dear Ebony; she is more than we could ever have wished for.