i am a crier

today a package arrived in the mail. it was from my mom. a birthday/easter present. 

i read my birthday card and instantly started crying. my mom has a knack for buying the most personable cards for every occasion. she makes it seem like the card was written just for you. i was in the kitchen when i read this with only the two year old boy as company. he was buckled in his high chair and turned around. 

“emmie otay?” 

“emmie’s crying”

“why?”

“cause she loves her mommy and daddy too much”

“oh”

i pulled myself together to finish serving him and his sisters supper, and wrapping up all the bed and bath time routines. 

when i was back in my room i opened one of the things in the package. cycling home from siberia. the book i have written about and referenced countless times on here. after i read it for the first time i asked my dad to. so he started it when i was home over christmas break. i am a severe dog earer of pages. so with each page that i had creased, he jotted down the page number and reason for dog earring it on the back of a christmas card envelope. and he added notes of his own too.

so when i got that book out of the parcel i sat down and started to read through his notes.

pg 57 quicker to melt solid ice than snow

pg 78 by yourself you are seen as a kind of nomad, searching adventure. in pair you look like tourists & tourists get robbed

pg 88 note address of each family you stay with or each person that helps you

pg 129 iodine drops

pg 220 ice cream -sugar & fat, does not dehydrate you

pg 236 stay out of indonesian waters - pirates

pg 353 but surely we(you) are brave my dear daughter emily anne

notes on the christmas card envelope

i didn’t get very far before i started crying again. hard. the kind of crying when your face squishes up very tight around your eyes and you try with all your might to keep your lips touching to prevent your mouth from opening. and when you blink the tears well up more and more, until they start rolling down your cheeks. and then you realize you haven’t taken a breath in ages, so you take a gigantic inhale that involves your whole body. toes clenching, shoulders raising to your ears. 

when i was taking these all encompassing breathes, that got louder with each exhale. i wondered if they could hear me upstairs. so i composed myself. i started to think about this family. this family that i live with, but am not apart of. this family that is so different from my family. different in every way. sometimes i feel sorry for the kids here. i think that they will never know that my ‘happy’ is so much more than theirs. that they will never know what its like to actually have the most amazing parents. i feel bad that their mom doesn’t cuddle up with them on the couch and eat ice cream out of the tub till the sides get mushy or walks them to school every morning, that their dad doesn’t come into their school as their show and tell or says i love you and tucks them in every night. but then they say something like “if you don’t cut my eggo i’ll get mom to fire you!” and i feel better. 

before i tucked the note away back into the book, i read this.

“...cycling home from siberia - extraordinary, only admiration and emotion beyond belief that my only offspring, how she has so much life in her...”

and then it started all over again.