I never had a sister and since there are nearly nine years between me and my brother, watching two sisters as close to one another as Molly and Finny are is an experience. Observing their sistery-ness is by turns: inspirational, heartwarming, heartbreaking, horrifying, breath-catching, time-out producing, and just plain fun. Things catch me by surprise all the time, but this morning one little incident stood out so much I had to write it here.
This morning, I offered to make the girls either scrambled eggs or omelettes. Finny wanted scrambled, Molly wanted omelette. As a Sunday treat, I made each girl what she wanted. But I have to admit, in my head I was ready for the battle that could ensue when each saw the other's breakfast and changed her little mind. I made the food and sat down to referee. Instead of a girlfight, what I saw left me astounded. Without saying a word to arrange it, Molly and Finny each took a bite of their own food, then scooped up a bite for each other. They fed each other so sweetly, trading forkfuls evenly every time until both plates were empty.
They did it so absent-mindedly, completely unaware of how precious and rare this unspoken closeness was to see. Each mouthful was handed over gently, without guise or reserve, exactly the same as putting food in their own mouths. I watched with my eyes welling up, willing myself to remember moments like these. To treasure them safely away in a corner of my heart. To stack them up as loving insulation against the more numerous and noisy squabbles and spats. It was love, as only true love can be: taken for granted.
So nice, right? Of course, the antidote is writing this post and hearing Eric threaten to stop reading bedtime stories if they don't calm down and be good to each other...wait, what was this post about again? Something about breakfast...?
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