Dear Brat and Bean,
I write to you every day in my head. A letter I sometimes remember to put down here, at other times forget to post to the future. Brat, I always worry because rowdy little hooligan though you are, with boundless energy, you cannot and will not harm a fly. I’ve blogged about it enough times and been told that children like you are God’s special little gentle babies. That the world will treat you with fairness. I don’t believe it. The world tramples over those who are too meek. And so I’ve fretted, stayed up nights crying when you come back from the playground hurt. Not for the little scraped knee, but for the hurt in your lovely brown eyes, the little wound on your heart that I am so ill equipped to bandage. Because you cannot begin to understand why anyone would want to push you.
But I guess my worrying days are over. A few days ago you were playing in the park when a child cycling by knocked you over. It was an accident and as you fell over, your grandpa who had taken you down to play, tells me you just sat there looking hurt and shocked. G’pa was walking over to pick you up when a little hurricane flashed past his legs. A tiny little fury, on skinny legs went tearing after the little cyclist – ‘Hey! You! Come back here. Why you dropped my brother? Come back! Say sorry…’ Her little hands balled up into fists, her face twisted in rage. Your grandfather forgot about you and went running after the avenging angel before she did serious damage to the boy who was twice both your size. Or was done serious damage by him!
Phew. So you’re not alone. Now if a truck runs over me tomorrow morning I’ll go knowing that the Bean will take care of you. Will never let you be pushed around, will protect that gentle soul of yours that only sees the best in others and can’t understand why people hurt each other.
But it’s not a one way relationship. You gently hold her hand when we get out of the car on a busy road. You chase after her and stop her before she runs out of our gate into traffic and hang on to her little dress for dear life, screaming, ‘Beanie, don’t go out there. It’s dangerous, you’ll have an accident.’
But the sweetest of all is this.
Beanie, you came to me today and told me that Baba had been in the bathroom too long (little sneak!) and I went along to investigate what mischief he was up to. There I found him hard at work on the bathroom floor – scrubbing your crocs clean. He looked up as I walked in and said – ‘Beanie’s shoes are dirty so I am washing them for her.’ And then he bent his head and went back to his labour of love. Scrubbing his precious baby sister’s little shoes.
It was all rather heart warming but for the small matter of him using my loofah for it!
I love you too. Your love for each other just serves to make me love you both so much more. Where does it come from? This instinctive love… I can’t imagine it any other way. I lose sight of it when I sometimes see you almost beat each other to death over a silly toy or rip a book into two because of course you both must have just that very one out of the 400 odd books that you have. And yet, isn’t it true that deep love and deep rage go hand in hand? I’d not trade them in for anything else.
Don’t ever change…
Love and a big huggy,