a bit of my brother

I hope you enjoy this as much as we do in our house. Maybe one day this voice will be played through the radio, until then... enjoy.

the bravest little soldier

There is a six year old girl that sleeps in a pink room, in a pink bed and on a pink pillow. She wears pink clothes, puts ribbons and bows in her hair and wears a smile as big as the sun. She plays with Barbie’s, colors with chalk and rides her pink scooter. She says witty things and sings pretty songs. She loves her momma and all of her family. She loves to visit her Grammy, and spend the afternoon with pop-pop watching football, of course, always cheering for the other team. She loves her nicknames and begs to be called them. She loves her school, her teacher, her bus stop and her bus driver. She says the same prayer each night at the dinner table, "Thank you for this wonderful house, thank you for this wonderful family and thank you for this wonderful food." She loves her wonderful life.

The little girl knows this life is not her own. The wonderful life she is surrounded by, although may seem picture perfect, she knows does not belong to her. It is her transition whiles she waits for her momma to return. Before she falls asleep each night she asks her aunt and uncle to pray with her, not for her, but for her momma. She asks for protection so her mom can be safe and do her work quickly to get home sooner. Her momma is not there, to her, her momma is in another country helping other little girls have the life she has. The little girl lives in that wonderful house with her wonderful family, while her momma is away. At night she grabs the tattered, torn and tear stained picture of her momma and lays it on her pink pillow, she knows is not her own. She kisses that picture, and tells her mom she is the bravest momma and Soldier she knows. She asks her aunt to cross off the day on her "Hello Kitty" calendar; she knows it means one less day until she can hug her momma and not just the picture. She gets a hug and a kiss from her aunt and her uncle, she tells them she loves them but misses her momma. She calls the little dog, to sleep in the room that does not belong to her. The little girl knows that tomorrow is another day to spend in the life that is not her own.

Each night after that little girl falls asleep; her aunt climbs the stairs and takes the picture of the little girls’ momma, clutched between the little girls’ fingers, and places it back on the pink pillow. Her aunt tucks that little girl tighter into the pink bed and wipes the dried and salty tears off the little girls cheeks. Her aunt gives the dog one last scratch behind its ears and prays that the little dog will provide some comfort, through the night, for that little girl.

Her momma wears a uniform and is the bravest Soldier that little girl knows. The little girl doesn’t know that at six, she is the bravest little soldier her family, especially her momma, knows. That little girl who wears a smile as big as the sun, who lives in a life that isn't her own, and waits patiently for her brave mommas return. That little girl, my niece, is the bravest little soldier.

nightmare

I often read blogs about mom's who love hearing the soft patter of the feet of their children, its all lovey dovey and cute. I think I may have missed that stage with Makenzie, I am sure Alicia could at one time refer to anything Makenzie did as soft. I however can't say that. There is nothing she does quietly, I mean nothing. When she is in the shower I often question what she is doing, but really WHAT is she doing? It's like circus in there, I am constantly checking to make sure she didn't bring a pet monkey home and decide to give it a bath. I always know where she is, without a doubt. Even in a game of hide and seek, I have to pretend that I didn't just hear her "tip-toe" up the stairs, quietly shut slam the door, slide under the bed and hit her head three times on it. She is very amusing though when she tries to get away with something, she thinks shes all sneaky, when little does she know that we are able to hear her every move. All in all her un-softness is what keeps me aware of her, and I never have to worry if she's ok... of course, unless she is quiet then I know something is wrong.

So back to the soft patter of feet. It was about 3am when drew and I woke to the soft Clydesdale sounding patter of feet coming down the stairs and into our room. Makenzie had a nightmare, poor thing. My adrenaline was pumping at this point because I thought someone with a herd of cows was trying to get into the house, don't stress, just Makenzie. She hops into bed (crushing Drew's nether regions) and squeezes herself between us. Like I said nothing is done softly. Oh, did I mention she flipped the light on to make sure we were awake to hear about her nightmare. Drew rolls over groaning and I begin to have a conversation about her nightmare, so I can get her back to bed as soon as possible. What had happened was...

Kenz- "I had a dream that the lights kept going on and off and Molly (our dog) left the room and then I realized you had more Hip-Hop style than I did at the football game we went to last night, and it made me feel bad."

Me- "well, is it true that I have more style than you?"

Kenz- "uhhh are you kidding me? No, but it felt like a nightmare, and I woke up scared that you did."

Me- "ok, since we know it's not possible for me to have more style than you let's get you back in bed... Goodnight Makenzie"

I took her back up to bed, assured her that I do not and never will have as much style as her and that if I ever get too "cool" looking I will tone it down. She seemed settled with that and fell back asleep.

I can't believe the possibility of me being "cool" was a nightmare to her... jeeez!