Sunday night musings about life and family and love…
I used to worry that if I didn’t have more children, Quinn (our youngest) would never have what her two older brothers share: each other. I worried she’d always be the odd one out, partly because she’s a girl and partly because she’s not quite as close to them in age. It seemed to be an inevitable dynamic in a family of five.
Last night, my husband and I watched a scene unfold from our front window. A little neighbor boy, who is younger and smaller than Quinn but still cannot resist pinching her every time he sees her, started gleefully running after her, pinchers ready. Quinn started running away in fear.
Trenton noticed and started calling to her, leading her toward our front door. Chase defended her from the back, spreading his arms out around her, guarding her as if he were playing defense in a pickup game.
Together they led her straight through our front door and deposited her right into my arms. It was a game for them (they thrived on the drama of the moment), but also a duty that seem to have picked up on innately.
If they’re jumping on a bed, she’s jumping on a bed. If they’re riding bikes, she’s riding bikes. (Here she is, leading the pack). Half the time, if they’re crying or yelling or protesting, she’s doing it too.
They belong to each other and to us and to God. I realized only a few months into mothering my three children that I didn’t need to worry about Quinn being the odd one out. My boys have taught me how to look out for the third.