I was going to write about seeing the twins again (they were sleepy all morning) or driving to soccer practice with three kids in the backseat (Timothy had a friend over) imitating Indiana Jones driving a tank off a cliff (I think). But then I talked to someone for forty-five minutes at the park during soccer.
We'd chit-chatted before, during other practices; she's there every Thursday like I am. I'm not sure why, since her boys are 4 and 6, but it's when they come play. I'd told her a little about V and me, and how to make granola (she'd asked, when she overheard me tell Tessa that I made the snack I carry around in a jar everywhere). We struck up a conversation again today. She ranted a bit about how she's usually so organized but everything seems to be falling apart--"Just faceplant and get a bloody lip," she called in the direction of her four-year-old, "It'll just round out the week perfectly." I told her about the school I graduated from, and meeting V, and our process of learning that love was more important than theology. I told her that all I wanted from people was not to be judged based on who I happened to be with. She listened. I talked about growing up with responsibility, between my half-siblings and being a pastor's daughter, and she said that didn't leave much of a place for childhood. I told her that I craved responsibility, though; she couldn't believe I'm not yet twenty-two.
She asked if she could give me a hug, as she was rounding up her boys to head home for dinner. I almost cried. She told me that she appreciated my willingness to talk to her, and didn't think it was an accident we were at the park together. I'd given her my email. I came home to--"If you ever need a friend/older sister, I would be happy to listen. I would love to be here for you if you need to talk. Sounds odd, I know, but I mean it. I don't think it's an accident that we met at the park!"
I guess I just postponed the crying till now. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and awe. And I think I want an older sister.