Four Years of Fables

"I'm so lucky on this day," she said, yesterday, after all my hair-pulling and hand wringing. (This is what I do. I doubt myself last minute, feel sad for a day and then prove myself insane by morning. I am the queen of getting on the rollercoaster and then freaking out when it does that jolt uphill. Because I'M NOT READY WAIT! And then I'm going down the hill and my hands are up in the air and OH, YEAH! This isn't so bad. In summary: I suck at plans but I'm a hell of an improviser. So whatever if things are haphazard, you know? That's what life looks like. And love. And birthdays.)

"I'm so lucky on this day" was the lesson.

The moral.

The Fable. 

Since her birth, every day has been full of them. She is the "happily ever after" at the end of every day, of every moment, no matter how trying. She is what pushes me to be a better woman. To own my instincts and love myself. To rebel and acquiesce, fight and forgive, to be strong and soft, to accept love with gratitude and pass it on. To make new friends.

And yes, there have been moments, many moments, challenging and frustrating moments. She has spent many a timeouts in her room, especially lately, but I love her in those moments of grief as fiercely as I do any other. It is impossible not to. With her hands crossed over a chest stained with marker. And feet that stomp in mismatched socks.

She is a character from a story and yet, here she is, in real life; a bouquet of balloons, flower fairy, a smile peering out from a ball pit. She doodles rainbows in the margins of her worksheets and wears tutus on the tire swing and pink hair to school when she feels like it.

She does karate in her princess dress and saves the end of every snack for her brother who loves her so much he climbs down from the top bunk to sleep beside her every night.

The other night Fable spent the night at her best friend's house. It was her first slumber party so we assumed she'd miss us and at some point want to come home.

"I have a feeling she's going to want us to pick her up," I said.

Hal had the same feeling.

Archer, too.

But she didn't. She was fine. Fable was fine and we were not. (We should have known.)

"I can't live without her," Archer said, in tears. He slept with us that night. And when she came back, the life literally returned to his face, a reminder of how Archer hardly spoke until Fable was born and then POW BOOM BANG, sentences. Like something inside of him had suddenly arrived.

"We met at the baby store, before we were born," was Archer's explanation. And I totally think he's right.

For the last four years, Fable has served up magic wherever she's gone. Her smile. That laugh. Her love. Her sense of self. She has always been FABLE! Bold and in all caps, underlined and surrounded by exclamation points. Unapologetically Fable. With bejeweled hair and scraped knees and ballet slippers stained with watercolors. She is our resident pixie, who tripped and fell out of a fairytale and into our mortal world.

...And in her wake, a trail of make believe. Wonderful, challenging, brimming with life, love and sisterhood.

Before bed last night, I kissed her. And then she took my kiss and passed it on to her doll.

"Here, Rainbowflower, put this in your pocket, okay?"

It was the most quintessentially Fable thing to say.

You're my rainbow flower, I told her.

No, I'm not, Momma. I'm your Fable.

True. That.

And with a high five (and a twenty minute cuddle/back scratch/arm scratch/another back scratch) she was asleep.

with the doll she named "Rainbowflower" on their way to school yesterday.

Happy Birthday, love. Thank you for leading us with your light and being our Fable.

...You are our unadulterated JOY.


GGC