prologue
“When I grow up I’m going to be a ballet dancer!” Fiona’s chestnut hair swirled around her shoulders as she spun her seven-year-old body in a clumsy circle.
“Me too!” Christa imitated her sister and was soon followed by four other small bodies spinning in dizzy uncoordinated circles across the family room.
Faith Rogers smiled from where she sat cross-legged on the floor in a corner. She was building a Lego garage with her four-year old, Gavin, while the sixes chattered about what they’d learned during career day. It seemed impossible to contemplate them as adults with careers. Although, seven years earlier when she and Arthur had brought home their six super-tiny, miracle infants, it would have been impossible to imagine them as seven-year-olds. Where had all her time gone?
“Mommy, I need more greens,” Gavin jolted her attention back to the task at hand. Faith began sorting through a pile of Legos and handing the green ones over to Gavin who was examining each one critically before adding it to the garage walls.
“Being a ballet dancer is too dance-ish,” Alena announced after she’d tripped and landed on her bottom. “I want to be a nurse.”
“A nurse is a wonderful idea,” Faith smiled at her.
“Me too!” “Me too!” Daphne and Elizabeth both stopped dancing and ran to Alena’s side. Brandon and Christa followed.
“I want to carry a briefcase,” Fiona shouted when she realized the other children had stopped dancing with her.
“You can’t,” Brandon said in his quiet way. “Briefcases are for boys. Daddy carries a briefcase.”
“Girls can carry briefcases!” Fiona stomped a foot and jammed her fists onto her waist. “We can!”
Brandon shook his head sadly as though he pitied his sister for missing out on the wondrous world of briefcases.
“Well then you can’t be a ballet dancer! Ballet is for girls,” Fiona smiled triumphantly.
“I can too! Girls need boys to dance with them!”
Faith allowed the bickering to continue for a moment or two. She had long since learned that if she broke up each and every disagreement, she would spend all day mediating. Most times the kids were able to either reach an agreement or they would get bored of fighting and wander off looking for something new to distract them. This did not appear to be one of those times.
“Anyway you can’t carry a briefcase because your hands will be full with your purse and diaper bag,” Brandon was explaining patiently.
“Enough arguing. Girls can certainly carry briefcases. And not all girls carry diaper bags,” Faith looked pointedly from Fiona to Brandon and then back to Fiona.
The children quieted and turned to face their mother. Fiona stuck out her tongue at her brother.
Brandon frowned thoughtfully. “What about ballet?”
“Boys can be ballet dancers,” Faith added. All six seven-year-olds were staring at her and she grabbed at the unusual moment of calm attentiveness. “You can each be anything you want to be. Nurses, dancers, lawyers… anything your hearts can dream up.”
“We should all be the same,” Christa decided. “Who wants to be a fireman?”
All the kids cheered and even Gavin abandoned Faith when they ran down the hallway together making siren sounds.
One day they would need to have this conversation again, and on that day they would be planning real futures instead of using the vacuum cleaner attachments to put out imaginary fires in the laundry room. Faith felt a familiar wash of feelings. Joy tinged with sadness. One day her beautiful babies would go out into the world as adults, but for now they were here and they were hers. And if she didn’t start cooking soon, she wouldn’t have the lasagnas finished before Arthur came home from the office. She lifted herself up off the floor and headed into the kitchen. No reason to pick up the Legos… with seven children, putting toys away was often futile.
