[x] I've always said the best gift you can give a child is a sibling. I suppose in some cases that's not always the truth; I mean, I barely speak with one of my brothers anymore. We hardly have the "storybook" sibling relationship. But even still, I'd like to think--in a utopian moment--should I ever seriously need something, I could count on him. I'm not entirely certain that it's something I could take to the proverbial bank, but again this is only one example. My other brother? No worries there. But that's just the nature of our relationships, really.

And I digress...

At lunch yesterday, Bear turns to me (and K.) and says, "Beauty cried at school today." Beauty went on chewing her pb&j (hey, it was on whole wheat, alright?!) happily but affirmed that Bear's allegation was correct. "What happened?" we asked.

"Well..."

Now, listen: if you've ever parented or spent an enormous time around your average four year old, you know that a really juicy preschool story can take all of lunch, all of playtime, all of dinnertime and beyond to really get to the meat and potatoes of it all. In short, my kid is a storyteller that could knock your socks off. He can go on for HOURS. (Gee, wonder where he gets *that* from, right?! ;) So the long and short of it is as follows:

Beauty was dancing during playtime at preschool. Some other little monster girl came up to her, told her to stop dancing, and pushed her. YES, SHE PUSHED MY LITTLE GIRL DOWN. (Can you sense my fangs coming out as I type this?!) Bear, being the *absolutely amazing* big brother that he is, ran over immediately to check on his crying little sister and tell that little demon girl how "cross" he was "at her for picking on my sister". *swoon* The story went on and on, but my eyes filled with tears out of love for the love he has for his sisters. He is always, always, always looking out for them. Beauty might have problems with communication and LF might not be able to see, but with Bear around? Yeah, no one will ever think to step up to either of his sisters. Even now, my heart is positively bursting at the thought of this all...

*sigh*

I just love those three kids so, so much...

[x] Oh, and yesterday? Little Flower was re-evaluated for PT and is approved for twice a month! Yeah! And her new therapist? Awesome. I am very happy indeed. :)

[x] This is completely unrelated but more from yesterday: we went to a new ("new" as in "we've never been there") cemetery in hope of finding my great-grandparents. This cemetery was by far the most breathtakingly beautiful one I've ever seen. Ever. It was amazing. I have to toss out a disclaimer that I HATE cemeteries. HATE. I find them...unnatural and unsettling. I mean, I believe in the act of burial, but when "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" includes so much body-preservation...true decomposition is so far off from the actual ritual of burial, just...yeah. So anyway, they unsettle me. Almost always have, except for when I was younger. But let me continue with my story...

Anyway, this cemetery is gorgeous. Like, amazingly so. After speaking with one of the "caretakers" who was probably no less than 107 years old, she offered up some sketchy directions as to the general location where my great-grandparents were buried, and we set off. They were in one of the "older sections" and the area was maintained, if not a tiny bit overgrown. I walked it quickly but on my last pass spotted my maiden name under a smattering of leaves. It was like a needle in a haystack. I still can't believe I found them. I'm going back next week to do a little clean-up lawn maintenance at the site, leave a few fresh flowers. Anyway, I had the most amazing feeling for just a flash-second, standing there. I've always felt rather interlinked and connected to my great-grandmother although I have absolutely no memories of her (she died when I was five years old). She was a gypsy--like a real, live-in-a-wagon, live-the-gypsy-life-in-its-entirety gypsy. I often wonder if my "wild streak", my fiery side, comes from her. Anyway, just standing there in that moment, it was like this odd little burst of electricity. I can't explain it, really, but it was pretty wild and very, very cool.

In this section of the cemetery, there were a lot of unkempt graves. Headstones creased with mud, grass growing this way and that. The leaves on the ground were plentiful, and I had to stoop down and uncover names with my hands (somehow, just moving them aside with my foot seemed a little...wrong). I didn't have to check too many headstones, as I just kept wandering where I felt I was supposed to go. But the stone I uncovered before my grandparents was that of a little boy. He died in the fifties at the age of three. Things like this get into me and stay with me and eat at me and fester deep in my blood. Just pausing there made me feel a deep, deep sadness. While his place in the cemetery is not mine to tend, I definitely plan on leaving a flower when we return.

So there you have it, a cute kid story and a story about a gyspy great-grandmother and her grave. More to come when I can post it...I'm working out another adoption-related rant (or ten).

<3