Soap squished through my fingers while water tumbled down my knuckles and into the sink.
Bam bam bam!….I jumped at her familiar knock at the door.
“Coming!” I called out as I tried to dry my hands. Bam bam bam bam….she pounded again.
“Leis?!”
“Coming!” I yelled again as I finally just fumbled with the knob and opened the door. Slender arms flung themselves around my waist and then Little D was off inside the apartment again.
“God sent me a little angel…” I remember Tony commented about her once. I nodded to myself as in a matter of seconds she had swept up the kittens, knocked over a lamp, and spilled a glass of water all over the table. She does seem to appear during bumpy patches in my life—like a little, filthy, tornado-of-joy-angel whose impulse control has evaporated completely in her nine short years—if it was ever there at all.
“I’m going to help you pick out some clothes!” she blurted urgently once we were in Target--- disappearing for a few seconds as I pulled the cart around. Glancing to my left I saw that Little D had managed to dislodge and entire rack of middle-aged women suits that fell down onto her head. Like a mummy of suiting she waddled over to me with different colored jackets and pants:
“I think THIS one would be so cute on you--- aren’t you a size 12?”
Yes. I am a size twelve when I have six other people living inside me.
“Well sweetie, those are nice but I think my mom would really probably wear that more than I would….”
“Can I get them for her?”
Before I could answer she was off again.
“Des! Stay by me, ok?” I called out softly— not wanting to imitate her screaming mother.
That time she brought back two racks worth of exercise outfits in colors ranging from neon orange to gopher gut green to rainbows.
"These are soo cute. I think you will love them for the gym."
As I put the clothes discretely back where they belonged she disappeared again. This time I found her dragging the gigantic shoe-sizing mat over to where I stood.
“Can you believe I’m a size 5 now?! Look!” she cried as she jumped all over the mat. She danced around so much I’m not sure that her foot ever landed in a size to confirm that statement.
“Honey, let’s put that back…” I said to her “Where did you get it?” As I looked for the location she was gone. Again.
At Trader Joes she immediately dashed over to the taste-testing stand and started collecting all of the samples. They slid off of the counter and on to her shirt.
Ooohhhh..nooo...
“No, Des, just try one.” I told her as she dove for three more to the surprise of the server. I smiled apologetically just as little D jumped under the front of someone’s cart (who called out “whoa there!”) and dashed to another aisle.
“Ok! What did I say about sticking with me?” I said as I turned a corner to find her clinking wine bottles together on display at the end of the row. People stared at her with concern. Then she tried crawling into the cart— her lanky, knobby self piling over the edge onto the groceries.
“Umm..babe, I don’t think there’s enough room in there for you. Let’s just check out and you can eat your treats on the ride home, ok?” She nodded and held onto the cart for 27 seconds (locking and unlocking her knees as she did so) until she couldn’t resist it anymore and ran to another check-out stand, dove over the counter and started squirting the check-out-clerk’s hand sanitizer all over herself.
“Desiray! NO—that’s not for you. Come back here.” She came and smiled sheepishly.
“Did you think that was something you were allowed to do?” I asked—curious to know if she really did think it was acceptable. She shook her head honestly.
"No."
“But you did it anyway?” She nodded with her eyes looking a tad helpless. I tried not to laugh.
As the checker got our items across the bleeper thing Desiray dashed behind the counter to help him load the sacks.
Do I stop her? I wondered. She’s just trying to help. Do I tell her to stand quietly beside me when she IS trying to---
The sack broke. Then a handle broke on another sack. A water bottle was shoved through the side of yet another sack before she ran over to the cart and stuffed the broken bags into it. Once it was full (with the clerk dancing gingerly around her) Little D shoved the cart every which way until it had slammed into two people and two displays.
“Thank you for your help, D, I’ll push it,” I said diving in to grab the handle-- hoping no one thought it was I who raised her to go ballistic with a grocery cart. She ran ahead to the electric door (after touching about every single item in between the check-out desk and the door— just because) and after I passed through it she turned around, grabbed the door, and shoved it across to close it herself.
Since electric doors are not used to being shoved shut with the full strength of a hyperactive ADHD nine year old, the door jammed and bent awkwardly before an alarm sound blared and the door was stuck.
D gave me her sheepish “Yup, I did that,” face and I couldn’t help but choke on a disguised laugh at another of her well-intentioned moments of disaster.
On the ride home we opened the apricots.
“In that country where I was a few years ago,” I said to her, “You’re supposed to wish on the first apricot of the season.” Little D squealed with glee and bit into her fruit.
“You’re probably not supposed to say, butwannaknowwhatiwishedforleisel?” her words ran together with urgency.
“What?”
“That K will make up her mind if she wants us or not,” she said of her mother’s former live-in-girlfriend. My heart ached.
“I probably shouldn’t give you any Coke little one,” Desiree said as she poured a glass of soda back at the apartment.
“No give it to her.” I said.
“Seriously? Caffeinated soda? It’s nine o’clock at night!”
“It will put her to sleep.” I said.
“What?”
“Yup!—remember when I drank all that coffee and fell asleep on your couch?” D chimed in.
Yes, my dear, I certainly do.
Before I could say anything else she was jumping across the couch to catch a kitchen.
“D,” I asked “Are you still going to therapy?”
“Nope!” she said as she crawled under the coffee table with two kittens tucked in her now stained-with-blackberry-juice shirt. “I graduated from it!”
Oh really, I thought. Fantastic.
This morning I woke up to her having climbed up onto my bed and snuggled down next to me.
“What time does your school start?” Desiree called to her, knowing it was getting later.
Oh. Crap. I forgot.
“I don’t know!” D said happily jumping from my bed down to Desiree’s.
“What time does her school start?” Desiree asked me.
“I don’t know.” I answered….realizing maybe D and I are not as different as I sometimes think.
Bam bam bam!….I jumped at her familiar knock at the door.
“Coming!” I called out as I tried to dry my hands. Bam bam bam bam….she pounded again.
“Leis?!”
“Coming!” I yelled again as I finally just fumbled with the knob and opened the door. Slender arms flung themselves around my waist and then Little D was off inside the apartment again.
“God sent me a little angel…” I remember Tony commented about her once. I nodded to myself as in a matter of seconds she had swept up the kittens, knocked over a lamp, and spilled a glass of water all over the table. She does seem to appear during bumpy patches in my life—like a little, filthy, tornado-of-joy-angel whose impulse control has evaporated completely in her nine short years—if it was ever there at all.
“I’m going to help you pick out some clothes!” she blurted urgently once we were in Target--- disappearing for a few seconds as I pulled the cart around. Glancing to my left I saw that Little D had managed to dislodge and entire rack of middle-aged women suits that fell down onto her head. Like a mummy of suiting she waddled over to me with different colored jackets and pants:
“I think THIS one would be so cute on you--- aren’t you a size 12?”
Yes. I am a size twelve when I have six other people living inside me.
“Well sweetie, those are nice but I think my mom would really probably wear that more than I would….”
“Can I get them for her?”
Before I could answer she was off again.
“Des! Stay by me, ok?” I called out softly— not wanting to imitate her screaming mother.
That time she brought back two racks worth of exercise outfits in colors ranging from neon orange to gopher gut green to rainbows.
"These are soo cute. I think you will love them for the gym."
As I put the clothes discretely back where they belonged she disappeared again. This time I found her dragging the gigantic shoe-sizing mat over to where I stood.
“Can you believe I’m a size 5 now?! Look!” she cried as she jumped all over the mat. She danced around so much I’m not sure that her foot ever landed in a size to confirm that statement.
“Honey, let’s put that back…” I said to her “Where did you get it?” As I looked for the location she was gone. Again.
At Trader Joes she immediately dashed over to the taste-testing stand and started collecting all of the samples. They slid off of the counter and on to her shirt.
Ooohhhh..nooo...
“No, Des, just try one.” I told her as she dove for three more to the surprise of the server. I smiled apologetically just as little D jumped under the front of someone’s cart (who called out “whoa there!”) and dashed to another aisle.
“Ok! What did I say about sticking with me?” I said as I turned a corner to find her clinking wine bottles together on display at the end of the row. People stared at her with concern. Then she tried crawling into the cart— her lanky, knobby self piling over the edge onto the groceries.
“Umm..babe, I don’t think there’s enough room in there for you. Let’s just check out and you can eat your treats on the ride home, ok?” She nodded and held onto the cart for 27 seconds (locking and unlocking her knees as she did so) until she couldn’t resist it anymore and ran to another check-out stand, dove over the counter and started squirting the check-out-clerk’s hand sanitizer all over herself.
“Desiray! NO—that’s not for you. Come back here.” She came and smiled sheepishly.
“Did you think that was something you were allowed to do?” I asked—curious to know if she really did think it was acceptable. She shook her head honestly.
"No."
“But you did it anyway?” She nodded with her eyes looking a tad helpless. I tried not to laugh.
As the checker got our items across the bleeper thing Desiray dashed behind the counter to help him load the sacks.
Do I stop her? I wondered. She’s just trying to help. Do I tell her to stand quietly beside me when she IS trying to---
The sack broke. Then a handle broke on another sack. A water bottle was shoved through the side of yet another sack before she ran over to the cart and stuffed the broken bags into it. Once it was full (with the clerk dancing gingerly around her) Little D shoved the cart every which way until it had slammed into two people and two displays.
“Thank you for your help, D, I’ll push it,” I said diving in to grab the handle-- hoping no one thought it was I who raised her to go ballistic with a grocery cart. She ran ahead to the electric door (after touching about every single item in between the check-out desk and the door— just because) and after I passed through it she turned around, grabbed the door, and shoved it across to close it herself.
Since electric doors are not used to being shoved shut with the full strength of a hyperactive ADHD nine year old, the door jammed and bent awkwardly before an alarm sound blared and the door was stuck.
D gave me her sheepish “Yup, I did that,” face and I couldn’t help but choke on a disguised laugh at another of her well-intentioned moments of disaster.
On the ride home we opened the apricots.
“In that country where I was a few years ago,” I said to her, “You’re supposed to wish on the first apricot of the season.” Little D squealed with glee and bit into her fruit.
“You’re probably not supposed to say, butwannaknowwhatiwishedforleisel?” her words ran together with urgency.
“What?”
“That K will make up her mind if she wants us or not,” she said of her mother’s former live-in-girlfriend. My heart ached.
“I probably shouldn’t give you any Coke little one,” Desiree said as she poured a glass of soda back at the apartment.
“No give it to her.” I said.
“Seriously? Caffeinated soda? It’s nine o’clock at night!”
“It will put her to sleep.” I said.
“What?”
“Yup!—remember when I drank all that coffee and fell asleep on your couch?” D chimed in.
Yes, my dear, I certainly do.
Before I could say anything else she was jumping across the couch to catch a kitchen.
“D,” I asked “Are you still going to therapy?”
“Nope!” she said as she crawled under the coffee table with two kittens tucked in her now stained-with-blackberry-juice shirt. “I graduated from it!”
Oh really, I thought. Fantastic.
This morning I woke up to her having climbed up onto my bed and snuggled down next to me.
“What time does your school start?” Desiree called to her, knowing it was getting later.
Oh. Crap. I forgot.
“I don’t know!” D said happily jumping from my bed down to Desiree’s.
“What time does her school start?” Desiree asked me.
“I don’t know.” I answered….realizing maybe D and I are not as different as I sometimes think.
-
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