for V, M, G, A, C, Du, I, Da, F, & AM.
as well as mr.A, Co, Io, and all the others.
but most especially, those first 10: otherwise known as mine.
as i drove to work this morning, on that worn path between salt lake and provo, at some unknown place in the midst of utah county, suddenly it felt as though it was one of my summer mornings, not the reality of a dark and cold winter morning. i think the winter sun rises a little bit slower than the summer sun, wary of the nip in the day ahead. in a summer morning, the sun is shameless. blasting the world with light before it has even risen above the horizon line. this morning, though, i was taken to a romanian summer morning.
feeling tired, sleepy. muscles aching. i step outside our sometimes trusty elevator and then down the few stairs towards the glass and metal door. through the glass, i see people already starting their day, bustling about, or not. varying with the person. we pass by the phone store, down the stone steps that are no longer smooth tiles, but look like they've had heavy bowling balls dropped on them. walk through the same broken and uneven tiles of sorts in front of the justice building. don't get hit by cars coming in and parking. pass the banks, the bus stop. and then comes st.nicholae's church leading to the cultural palace. we cross the parking lot, and head towards the sidewalk that curves with the anastasia panu road. past construction workers (they just loved us) towards a sign for hair color straight across from pizzeria domneasca. wait to cross the street. sometimes they're nice, sometimes you just run for it, knowing that if you go, they will stop. (romanian brakes are much more magical than american ones, i think.) turn left past the tantalizing aroma of pastries and pizza in the morning air. turn and head down a mostly passed-by sidewalk, of sorts towards a staircase - both of which are mostly hidden by a tree, and seems to blend into the transition between tree and pizzeria. go down the steep curving stairs, past the morning shipment of beer bottles and employees not yet working, but smoking at the table in the far corner - the one closest to our staircase. the relatively small staircase releases itself on a dirt road. straight on through the dirt, or mud. on the foot wide concrete curb marking a border between the road and the fences of homes, when there is one. cross a dirt-road intersection and look right towards the church's vila that you only visited a few times before moving locations. pass the big building under construction for who knows how long. and then comes the paved road. strada sfântul andrei. one way. where we cross is on the other side of a curve in the road, a curve taken at swift speeds by romanian drivers. when the limited opportunity arises, dart across the road to the chain link fence that stands, like all the other fences, around 6ft tall.
open the latch and enter through the gate. pass tree upon tree bursting with ripening cherries, a sour appreciated the most by mr.A. take the pathway that curves to the right, past a mini swingset and around to the side/back of section 2. as we enter into the designated bambi outdoor playplace, we instantly find if the kids are outside or not--almost always, they are. if not, we know why instantly. we can almost always accurately predict. amanda and kylee's kids. "uh-maaan-duh. ahh mannn dah! ah manda! manda manda!" that is the sound of morning. as we rushed our way through this whole path, we slow slightly, giving smiles and "dimineața! revenim!" to the kiddies. amanda calling them by name. then we fight past them and through the next gate, careful to close it behind us. past the cars. up the ramp and in. down the hall on the left, and in the room with a box filled with plastic balls, our room was on the left. the isolation room for daycare was our changing station. out with the world, in with the scrubs. before going in, i sneak a peek to the right. the mickey mouse place. my place. are my kids out yet? usually, i just see Co on the swing. and i am set at ease. seeing her on the swing is the equivalent of hearing "ahh-maaan-dah!" as we arrive. this is how we know that everything is as it should be.
meet with the other set of girls. scrubs on. review of how everyone in the group is feeling. who is or isn't there, and why. who's sick right now? (there's always someone.) we start with a prayer together to send us off before separating to find our kids--and some days, that's all that gets us through. sanitizer in pocket. water bottle in hand. let it begin. melissa goes straight out to the mm place - most her kids are already out. only a few of mine get to go outside, so i start by sneaking upstairs to survey the situation. pass teo's office on the way. the doctor in green in the first room at the top of the stairs. at the end of the hall, take a left. down that hall, go through the door, and keep going straight. straight on, and through the window i see signs of life, sometimes. sometimes the 3 are already outside. if not, they're nearly on their way. or just finishing up playing with blocks. or singing. brace yourself, and open the door. turn around and close it behind you, for romanian doors don't just shut behind you as american ones do. they're not heavy enough. it gives time to breathe before the onslaught of three hours of beautiful chaos. and so it begins.
it's always a debate whether V or M will get to me first. often it just depends on which woman is working that day. i reach up and put my water bottle far out of child's-reach on top of the cabinet. sometimes my guy G comes up to me right away with the girls, sometimes not. give kisses. lift them up and place them on my hip. and of course: "bună dimineața, [insert kidlet name here]!" "dimineața!" smiles, hugs, kisses. once the V and M are satisfied, if they are inside when i arrive, then i keep moving. i made a goal at the start to make sure i spent individual time with each one of my kids every single day. a goal i refused to not meet, especially considering my limited time in the room because of working with mr.A for the last 45-60 minutes. tickle cuddle bug A's tummy and get the most satifying giggle you'll ever hear. i wrap my arm around A to do so, letting him latch onto me with arms and legs since he can't see me. slowly make my way to C, Du, and I. giving their muscles squeezes and wishing them good morning. when V, M, and G are outside from the start, i can skip straight to them. and then i go back to the back room, to my sweet F, Da, and AM--three of the sweetest souls on this planet earth. usually they're sweating bullets, so i just join them. we have sweat parties, essentially. i take turns with who i visit first of the three, but regardless of who i'm with, the other two keep watchful eye on me. and if they can't adjust their bodies to see me, i can tell they're listening. so i talk to them. i pay them compliments. and then, i just sing. i think that's their favorite part. often, AM will join in. especially with certain songs. and they all just smile and smile. giggle as i tickle them, and massage their locked up muscles. before i know it, time is escaping me, disappearing even. when i get too carried away, i stay with them until 10 or 10:30 when the three (V, M, G) come back inside. other times, i spend till 9:30, or 9:45, revisit Du, C, and I--making sure they're content, of course--and then outside i go to see mes petits. outside (everywhere, really) i can always expect chaos. anything less, is a fun surprise. the days i realized my kids had begun to recognize me and were getting excited to see me each morning were some of the happiest of my life. true love.
and this is where i found myself, somewhere in the midst of utah county on i15, crying. tears streaming down my face with the thought of their little arms around me. feeling V's jaws against my cheek as she gave me kisses. feeling the fleshy and adorable cheeks of M when she gives me kisses. G finally letting me hug him. happiness. true, unfaltering happiness. and then the realization that if i ever could experience them running to me and making sounds of joy upon my arrival and sitting down to sing and play with them, i'd burst into tears outright. unable to contain the astonishment and joy. as roslyn once said,
"Today I missed my babies so much. Like uncontrollably miss them.
They occupy perhaps the largest space in my heart.
Maybe more than my family or friends.
Because they only loved. And never judged.
And neither of us made demands or had conditions
about what we would do for each other.
They were just pure little bundles of insanity and joy."
someday, my littles. someday. you will have all you deserve and more, for all the love you've given without condition or judgment. just love in its purest form.
