"I hate being a kid," our daughter announces from her seat in the back of the Civic.
"You hate being a kid? You want to be a puppy dog or a horsie? A Santa Claus, or a scary monster?" our son queries, honestly questioning her motives.
"No, I hate being a kid!"
"You not hate being a kid! It's fun being a kid!"
As the debate rages on in the back seat, Tim and I realize we've said too much in front of Emily about her upcoming tonsilectomy. And as necessary as I've come to believe the surgery is, I feel for her. It's not fun being told what you're going to do, or what's going to be done to you.
Emily seems to have inherited both my monstrous tonsils and my need to control the situation in which I find myself. From a young age, I always looked forward to being an adult, able to mind my own business and manage my own affairs.
Regardless, I've done the research and the tonsils need to come out.
Ah, the post above is one that I began back in December 2008 and never finished. Suffice it to say, the tonsils did come out. Emily will be the first to admit today that she's even glad that they did, despite the long and often painful recovery.
"Rok me Mom," reads a note that I found just the other day, one she wrote during the time she spent healing from the surgery and one I saved to remind myself of these days when my ability to comfort her is enough.
My princess is finding her own way amid the pirates, who both adore and torment her. As one of three sisters, I often wondered what it would be like to have a brother. Or two. And now Emily can answer the question for me.
"I can tell you're going to be like your big brother," she tells baby Ethan while holding him on her hip, stroking his downy head. "You're going to hurt me, too."
In the news just yesterday was a study suggesting that simply having a sister, regardless of other factors such as socioeconomic status or education level, makes one a happier person. If any sister will do, then I am the mother of two extraordinarily lucky little pirates.