On Change

After just six years of life my daughter spouts aged worries–when daughters get big, she says,
their mommas die and what if there is no tomorrow, because there wasn’t
one today. Why would someone try to steal me, she wants to know, and
why don’t Jewish people believe in Jesus? She reasons it’s because
they’ve never seen him, and I agree this seems possible.

Bam! She’s trapped me, right there at the
kitchen sink, and she gives me my
curse: I will be stuck there,
washing dishes,
forever.

At nearly four, my son suddenly tells me to close my eyes as he changes
into his swimming trunks on the front porch. He sings along to
“American Pie” and insists he needs to win when we cross the
street or at the dinner table. He holds my face and
kisses me softly, and seriously, says
Thanks Mommy when I tell him
he’s sweet, weeps when
his sister reaches
the anywhere
first.

My youngest pours cups and cups of sugar on the dark carpet
under the table. When daddy scowls, her shoulders
lift and her curls tilt. I got teeth,
she says, and points to
her ivory
smile.