Dear Reese,
You have a fever again, so you spend the day with MorMor and Cappi and I continue a week of feeling pretty unmoored. You are pretty happy despite having a fever, little girl, so at least it isn’t bugging you much. Though that cough can’t be any fun, and you’re a pro at rubbing snot all over your face. Or maybe you’re just pulling at your mouth because another tooth is coming in. And look, I don’t know how I’m ever going to get rid of these waves of diaper rash.
(So thank you for smiling through it because it looks like it’s a lot to be you in your growing body.)
But I got good news at the end of my workday, so when you come home, I’m all smiles, and you match my energy. We end up rolling around playing on my bedroom floor. I put a cleaning rag over my face and then take it off for peek-a-boo. Then I leave it there lying over my face and you crawl across the floor to grab the rag and ‘find’ me. We keep up the game, both giggling.
Your temperature is 101 degrees when I put you to bed early. Thirty minutes later you wake up screaming, and I run in and hold you for a minute before you fall back to sleep. A bad dream? I get those too.
Love,
Mama
The Castle in the Pond, Part 22
The black swan lunges at you again, but this time you meet him with your own attack. It seems there was no avoiding this clash. You punch and leap, lily pad shield on one arm. Before the black swan’s power overwhelmed, but now at least your own green light matches the energy . . . though you’re barely keeping up.
The surface of the water ripples and creates waves with the energy of the fight. Every time you’re thrown back by the force of the water, you rise again.
Then, miraculously, you see you’re not fighting alone. Your duck friend is swimming out from the reeds, and you can see the jaws of The Fierce Croc! Your bravery has given them courage too, and then they join in the battle against the black swan, biting and slaming, though they also get thrown across the water again and again.
Then even the ancient snapping turtle is there, snapping at the black swan’s feet.
Badum. Badum. The pulse of the black swan’s power has always been strong, but suddenly you see that same pulse, free from malice, in the duck flapping its feathers and The Fierce Croc snapping its teeth. Then, at last, The Great Bullfrog herself is leaping through the air, drained of her previous magic, but thrumming with a new spark.
If the black swan’s power came from this pond, his home, it belongs to all those who call it home. A brilliant colorless light shines from every pond dweller who joins the fight.
The black swan, at last, slows. Then he dives below the water.
You follow.
“You say your power came from this pond,” you tell him, projecting your words through your mind to his. You can see he is listening. Deep below you both is the ruined castle. “These waters have spoken and shared the power. Do you deny them? This is your home, but it is theirs too.”
The black swan stares at you — with anger, with fear — and lowers his head.
To be continued.