Phoenixfire Pt. 2

Lia tucked me into bed, kissing me on the nose. I squirmed slightly under the covers.

"Do I have to go to sleep now?" I looked up pleadingly, hoping to coax her into another hour. "It's not that late, and I'm not even tired!"

She laughed slightly. "It's more than an hour past your bedtime! And you may not be tired, but I am!"

"One story... Please???" I tried, with only partial success, to keep my lower lip from jutting out.

Lia tried, less successfully, to keep from smiling. "All right, just one." She turned to the low shelf that held all my favorite stories. "Which one do you want me to read?"

"Joan of Arc! Joan of Arc!"

She sighed. "You hear that story every night!"

"Exactly! It's my favorite! Please! If you read it tonight, I'll be good all day tomorrow!"

"Fine..." She slid out the thin, well-worn volume, then began.

"A long time ago, in France, a girl was born. Her parents named her Jeanne d'Arc, but we know her as Joan of Arc...

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

"So even though she died, her contribution helped Charles VII keep the throne and eventually become one of France's best kings." Lia closed the book. "Are you ready to sleep now?"

I intended to say, "I guess," but being mid-yawn, it came out "Ah guehh..."

She smoothed out the covers where my frantic hands had tugged and twisted them into a mess during the story. "Goodnight, Joanna."

"'Night, Lia." I hesitated. "Lia?"

She turned around by the doorway. "Yes?"

"Was Joan happy?"

"What?"

"Was Joan happy that even though she died, she was able to help her country?"

She smiled thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know for certain. She's the only one that could answer that. But from what I know of her, I'm sure that she was very happy to give her life for a cause she believed in."

I smiled, satisfied. "Okay. Goodnight, Lia."

"Goodnight, dear."

"I love you..."

"I love you too. Now go to sleep, little one."

A Long Hot Walk

(Or: "Why I am not yet ready to be a parent")

Today promised to be a crazy day. Mom is taking child # 3 and foster brother # 1 to San Luis Obispo to help FB#1 with college stuff, while child #2 has high school registration. Children #4 & 5 were planning on going with Mom, but decided not to. This left me, child # 1, with the task of caring for them and getting to Hanford for an appointment by 4:30.

Cute, right? Try living with them...

Fortunately, my wonderful amazing mother made plans for them to go to a friend's house at 1:30. I just had to walk them there. Sound easy? NO.

We get out the door after I throw child # 4 a pair of really big sandals to wear, and telling child # 5 that he could stay in his pajamas, his friend wouldn't care. About halfway down the block, I decide to give # 4 a ride on my back to speed up the process. (I have a tendency to forget about my faulty back at inopportune moments.) She hands me her bright pink socks to give to her at the end of the walk. I carry her about a full block, then # 5 gets tired and sulky. I have them switch, then we finally make it to the friend's house.

Another interesting note about me: I hate knocking on doors. I get all self-conscious and embarrassed, and I either knock so quietly that no-one could hear it, or so hard that I hurt my hand and scare the inhabitants. So when we realize that the doorbell doesn't work, a little part of my soul starts sobbing. But after knocking a few times (ending with the second option above, in which I try to not show my siblings that their big sister just injured herself yet again on an inanimate object), someone comes into the door and takes the children. I told her she could keep them, but she declined.

Just as I start walking back and think my troubles are over, I do my usual *what is this in my pockets again* check. Lo and behold, it's the pink socks.

The instruments of evil. And my left hand. Ignore the messed up thumb.

So I get to walk them back to the house, shamefacedly hand them to the first person who comes to the door, then hurry home. Moral of the story: I am nowhere near ready to have children of my own. I can barely handle my siblings.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go catch a bus. (Since I've never been on the city bus before, keep me in your prayers today.)