This morning I was racing around, Monday-style — trying to unearth suitable items for the lunch boxes and figure out how much Sears would charge to come out and look at our broken (again!) dryer — when I realized that Annabelle was reading to Sophie.
That’s not such an uncommon occurence, but I felt a pang — of several things, mostly guilt — when I noticed Annabelle was reading the book Sophie had been begging (or nagging, depending on your perspective) me to read to her all morning.
The girls were peacefully eating their Cheerios (Annabelle’s with milk; Sophie had requested two bowls — one with milk, the other dry), and without making a big deal out of it, the big sister was reading to the little one.
I’ve always been critical of people with large families who let the older kids do the parenting. But this morning, I got it — and I was grateful. Sophie refused to listen to me (a grudge because I was too busy to read to her?) and so with my prompting, it was Annabelle who convinced her to go to the potty, to change from PJs to dress, to put on her shoes, to quickly choose a toy and leave the house for school.
She was her typically low-key self about the whole thing, but I could tell Annabelle was pretty proud of herself. Not as proud, however, as I was of her. In so many ways, and more every day, she’s my hero.
The topic of heroes came up last week when it was time to choose assignments for Best of Phoenix, the scourge of my professional earth – the phone book-thick, annual compendium I edit (which means create and, sometimes, largely write) and sweat over for many months each year. The idea is to gather all the good stuff in town as a break from the bitching and moaning the alt weekly I work for indulges in the other 51 weeks a year.
It’s always a challenge to keep the material fresh. This year, I asked each contributor to come up with a hero he or she would like to interview. I was thinking along the lines of a well-known politician, or maybe a sports figure, but more than one person wanted to interview Sophie. I thought that was sweet (particularly since she made Ray’s list — some days it’s more fun to work with your spouse than others) but I couldn’t help thinking that — while Sophie’s a terrific choice, to be sure — I’d frankly be more likely to choose Annabelle.
Annabelle is not always patient with Sophie. That’s for sure. They bicker and nag, like any other siblings. One day they’re emerging from the tub literally wrapped together in one towel, and the next day Annabelle’s banished her sister from the bathroom entirely for “being mean.” (Probably deserved, since I have, in fact, heard Sophie call Annabelle “stupid head” on more than one occasion.)
But more often, I’ve seen in Annabelle this incredible patience and love. She didn’t sign up to have a sister with special needs, and every day (along with the long list of other things I worry about) I worry about her. On some level, is she resentful? Is she getting less attention than she should? Is there teasing going on at school that I don’t know about?
And — the mother’s speciality, pressing the Fast Forward Button — what will happen to my girls in 15 years? It’s one thing to read to your little sister at the breakfast table; it’s quite another to be her life-long caregiver.
I’d be better off focusing on getting the girls to school before the bell rings, which is what I did this morning — with Annabelle’s help. After a successful school drop-off, I headed to the office, where my computer crashed so many times I had to give in and call the IT guy. While he slaved (or something) I killed time by tackling the piles that would cause great alarm were an OSHA representative to stop by my work place.
Amidst the boxes of dusty documents and back copies of Best of Phoenix, I discovered a pile of old snapshots — two, maybe three years old? — of the girls, taken by our good friend Kim.
They are on the lawn, and Annabelle is showing Sophie how to blow dandelions. I stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the past and ignoring the future. Then I went back to cleaning up.
