Braids are right today. Braids are for the warmth, for the beauty, for the quick look of together when little else is. Braids because I can and will and do and feel young and alive.
Braids – a suit for here and now. This office of diapers, meals, blanket tents, vet clinics for exotic animals and reading books about a family of mice that can’t catch their train, a little boy’s first hair cut, a to serious monster that thinks laughter is bad, and birds. Always birds.
They collect four feathers today – at least. Well, that doesn’t include the tail feathers that Tess keeps losing to George Wilder’s quick grabs. Amelia says the little gray ones are from a gold finch. Then they trade some more before heading out to build a sand castle and play school. How do they even know how to “play school”?
William wants his lunch after a sweet friend brings us pizza knowing that would be the perfect relief while George is gone. He suckles sweetly with his hand tightly holding on to my black jacket – part of the suit – and cooing. He takes his time. No gulping or flailing. His noises tell me he is content. Perfectly pacified.
George. He is watched today – an interview. They watch his every move just like I watch every move William makes. I now know his cries. His hunger cry. His tired cry. His annoyed one. Will they know George’s intensity? Will they know his pleasure for learning – his passion for teaching? Will they know it the way that someone who believes in someone knows?
I believe in him. I believe in my William and George Wilder and Amelia. And we are satisfied.