Audacious

When you scream, you test your volume. Higher and higher you go until someone responds. You do it on purpose. I know because once when I asked why you screamed so loudly, you said, "I want to make sure you know I'm upset."

You are all too aware of how big the world is. You've recognized its shadows and you know that things can lurk in there. But you, at 5, don't know what those things are just yet, so you hold on to things you do know about. Zombies. They loom at every turn. When you sit in your room you have to face the doorway so that the zombies can't sneak up on you. When you sleep, you wrap a blanket over your head to keep the zombie dreams out.

I can reassure you that they aren't real, but that's pointless. You know they aren't real, but the bad things still skulk -- you know they do -- and since you don't have a name for it, you use the only one you have. Zombies, zombies, zombies.

You find comfort in the familiar. You want to watch the same movies and TV shows over and over again. The idea of watching a new movie is met with flat rejection because the unknown aspect freaks you out. Except, for some reason, when we were watching the end of Voyage of the Dawn Treader. You wandered in when it was high drama time. The heroes were battling a massive sea monster. You stared, wide-eyed, as I explained about suspense and its function in movies. "Movies always want you to feel suspense because it keeps you watching. And they do that so that when it all works out, you can feel a big sense of relief. The more suspense, the bigger your relief when it all works out. And everyone likes that feeling. Watch; you'll see." And this made perfect sense to you. You watched the whole thing and asked to watch it again, "but just the end part."

Reason and logic are your favorite things. If I can explain anything to you well enough, you will sit and consider it for the longest time. You are eager to soak up new information, and you remember things so easily. You are an avid reader already, and you love it like I always did and still do. Every night you ask to read in bed, and even if it's late or way past your bedtime, I can never say no. The other night you were reading "Fish Out of Water" -- a 64 page book! -- and I was surprised at how easily you took on the word "cellar." How quickly you pulled that word up when you encountered it again on the next page.

When you laugh you put your whole self into it. Your eyes crinkle at the corners and they are impossibly light then. Your cheeks crease into dimples and your body shakes. Your face is transformed into a paroxysm of joy and it's a joy that puts any other joy in the world to shame. You have the quirkiest sense of humor, venturing all the way over into inappropriate at times. When you think something is funny you expect everyone to get the joke, and if they don't, you repeat it louder. And I've never asked why, but if I did I bet you would say, "I want you to make sure you know that it's funny."

It is so easy to hurt your feelings and then sometimes you are impenetrable. Your sister is a good litmus for this. Sometimes she comes at you with every ill intention she can muster and you will dissolve and wail and screech with sorrow. Sometimes you lash out physically and grab or pinch or pull. And sometimes you retreat, blanking her out altogether. Sometimes you just wrap her in a giant hug and kiss her firmly anywhere your lips can find purchase.

You love fiercely and concentrate that love mostly on one person. You leave little room for anyone else in that love. It's easy for me to be OK with this because right now most of that love is for me. You fold yourself into my arms and wrap your own arms around me and hug back right and proper. You will throw yourself at my stomach just to plant an aggressive punch of a kiss there. You love, you love, you love. With everything you've got.

Oh, you bright light, you unfathomable child. You are a collection of galaxies, you are the entire universe. Your heart is chaos and creation. Sometimes I worry that I don't write about you enough, that I'm always focusing on your sister, but this is why. Who can begin to reason such an awesome force? Scientists could devote years to it. And me? I'm just your mother, so utterly gobsmacked by the reality of you that I'm (mostly) incapable of putting words to it.