Page 14 of All of Me

“Is that so?” I play along. “What kind of superhero are you going to be?”

Barrett thinks for a moment , his serious expression both adorable and earnest. “The kind who helps people and makes sure everyone is okay,” he decides with a firm nod. Pride swells my chest, and I feel a lump rise in my throat. “That sounds like the best kind of superhero, Barrett. The world could definitely use more of those.”

He smiles again, satisfied with his answer, and leans back in his seat. “Do you think Sara and Ruby will be superheroes, too?” he asks, peeking over at the girls. He has already referred to them as his sisters.

“Absolutely,” I say with no hesitation. “They’ve already got you, the very best superhero, to show them how it’s done.”

The car falls into a peaceful silence, the hum of the tires on the road filling the space. I glance back at Ruby and Sara, both still sound asleep, a sense of calm settles over me.For all the challenges, these little moments with these incredible kids make everything worth it. Barrett’s belief in us as superheroes might be simple childhood logic, but it feels profound in its own way. He sees the best in all of us, even when we don’t see it in ourselves.

I glance at him again in the mirror as we approach home. “You know, Barrett,” I begin, “if being a superhero means helping people and making sure everyone is okay, then I think you already are one.”

His eyes light up. He sits up straighter and puffs out his chest with pride. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirm. “And I’m so proud of you.”

Barrett’s smile stretches wide across his face, and he settles back in his seat, content. I turn my attention back to the road, my own heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. Sometimes, the wisdom of a child is all it takes to remind us that even in the hardest moments, we’re doing okay.

I’ve never been a huge fan of Thanksgiving. Growing up, it always felt like more of an obligation than a celebration. I don’t remember a single time when I enjoyed the holiday as a kid. Religious and political arguments followed by too many variations of green bean casserole usually leaves little to be desired, but this year is different. .

I love the idea of celebrating my first holiday season with Owen and Barrett. I don’t, however, love the idea of visiting three different families in one day, or seeing Owen’s father Henry who was rude to me the first time I met him. I know how much Owen loves the holidays, so I’m determined to make the most of it. He offered to forgo celebrating with his father, but I’m not one to back down from a bully, nor would I keep Owen from his family on a holiday, so I insisted we make a stop. I assured Owen that if Henry spoke to me sideways, I would not hold my tongue.

Getting the kids ready this morning was a challenge. Barrett is ecstatic that our first stop is at my mom’s house. Every time he sees my stepdad Wayne, he leaves with something special, like a dollar bill or a fun necktie. Sure enough, the moment we arrived at the Van Damme Hawkridge Estate, Wayne had his dollar bill at the ready and Barrett was chomping at the bit to have it. Owen had to remind him to mind his manners. I might have to have a talk with Wayne about buying the children’s affection…

Lunch is a blur of passing plates, clinking silverware, and my mother being completely over-the-top. She wants to make sure everything is perfect. Sometimes I wish she would just live in the moment instead of trying to control everything, but her heart is in the right place.

After lunch, we clear the table for dessert. I’m sure it’s a decision I’m going to regret later but I’m wearing leggings today so my pants aren’t going to fight me on it. Breastfeeding makes me hungrier than I was when I was pregnant, I swear. My sister Taylor joins me in the kitchen while I plate pie for Owen and the kids. She has already snatched the can of whipped cream from my niece Ava. Things like that are always funny when it’s not your own kid. It’s only a matter of time before Sara is up to those kinds of shenanigans. She loves doing anything her big cousin does.

I’m surprised my mom didn’t lose her mind chasing after Ava and ranting about the extra calories my five-year-old niece was consuming. Then again, she’s the one who bought all the pies and whipped cream, so maybe she’s changed her ways since Taylor and I were kids.

I raise an eyebrow at Taylor. “Is it just me, or is Mom suspiciously calm about Ava eating so much sugar today?”

Taylor meets my gaze, her expression skeptical. “Yeah, it’s weird. If that were us, she’d give us a full-blown lecture about counting calories.”

“Apparently it’s easier being Rita’s granddaughter than her daughter,” I quip.

“Thank God for that,” she snorts, adding a second piece of pie to her plate out of spite. I burst into laughter and nearly fumble one of the many plates I’m balancing. Owen swoops in from nowhere, steadies my arm and catches the plate before anything crashes to the floor.

I blink up at him. “How do you always swoop in at the perfect time?”

Owen chuckles, setting the plate safely back on the counter. “It’s more like I’ve accepted that between you refusing to ask for help and being a clutz, messes are bound to be made.”

I narrow my eyes at him in mock offense. “I am not that bad!”

“Dollface, I love you. So much. But you’re kind of a human wrecking ball.”

Right on cue, Ava, who has apparently been scoping out the dessert counter again trying to snatch the whipped cream, starts singing the recently popular Miley Cyrus song at the top of her lungs. Taylor groans and points to a chair at the table where Ava was supposed to sit down already.

“This is your fault,” Taylor mutters, pointing at Owen.

Without missing a beat, Ava grabs the whipped cream can and proceeds to use it as a microphone to finish her performance as if she’s auditioning to be on the next Kidz Bop CD.

By the time we wrangle the kids into their coats and say our goodbyes, I feel the familiar exhaustion creep in. I muster the energy to continue as I watch Barrett, wearing a new necktie covered in UFOs beaming up cows, stuff a crisp dollar bill into his pocket. As we head to Owen’s grandparents’ house, I steal a glance at him and hear the faintest hum to the tune ofWrecking Ballcoming from his lips.

six

HOME - PHILLIP PHILLIPS

OWEN - NOVEMBER 28, 2013

---