**This is the rough draft of a short story that I just wrote. I'd love some feedback on it, as it's the first thing I've written since Family Portraits was finished.**

Today’s going to be a good day, because it’s Grocery Store Day. Actually, it’s Thursday, but since it’s still summer and we’re going to the grocery store with Mama, I’m calling it Grocery Store Day. We only go to the grocery store about twice a month, so Mama says a trip into town for groceries is a Big Event. When there’s a Big Event, I have to be on my best behavior ever and help watch the little ones.

Right now Mama’s trying to make Lexie hold still long enough to comb her hair and put it into pigtails. “Lord knows how I manage to stay sane dealing with the four of you every day,” Mama mutters, yanking the comb through Lexie’s hair. “Lexie, hold still, for Pete’s sake! Lilly, go find Rylan and make sure he’s dressed and ready to go.”

I hurry out of the kitchen and down the hall to Rylan’s bedroom. He’s the only one of us kids who has his own bedroom, on account of he’s a boy. Rylan gets to do a lot of things because he’s the only boy. He’s only six, but Daddy takes him hunting with him sometimes. I’m almost eight and Daddy’s still never taken me hunting. He says the woods are no place for a little girl and I’d just be in the way.

“Rylan, come on!” I poke my head in the doorway of his room. He’s sitting on the floor playing with his cars, and he’s wearing long pants and a long-sleeve shirt. “Mama asked you to put on shorts and a tank top, remember?”

“In a minute,” he answers, not looking up from his cars.

“No, now, Rylan! Mama’s fixing to spank you if you don’t get your butt out to the kitchen.”

I roll my eyes and walk to Mama and Daddy’s room to get the baby. Kaylee is wide awake, lying in her crib looking up at her mobile with the little ducks on it. She smiles and wiggles around when she sees me. “Hey, precious.” I smile back. Kaylee loves it when we talk baby talk to her, so I babble at her as I lift her out of her crib and lay her on the changing table.

“Lilly! Can you watch Kaylee for a minute? I’m coming to change her diaper as soon as I get Lexie’s hair…Lexie, hold still or so help me God, I will beat your bottom!”

“It’s OK, Mama,” I holler back. “I’m changing her now.”

Mama appears in the doorway just as I’m buttoning the last button on Kaylee’s onesie. “Gracious, Lilly-Girl, you’re an angel, you know that?” She kisses the top of my head and takes Kaylee from me. “What would I do without you?”

I feel all warm and tingly inside when Mama says things like that. “Go crazy?” I guess.

She laughs. “As if I’m not already crazy, dealing with your daddy and you four little hooligans.” She kisses the top of my head again. “You’re such a big help to me, Lilly. Thank you. Now let’s go see if your brother and sister have managed to destroy the living room yet.”

I help Mama get the little ones into the car, which is hard because Lexie doesn’t want to leave the kitchen. “I don’t want to go to the store,” she pouts. “I want to stay here. I’m big enough to stay by myself.”

“No, you’re not, you dummy!” Rylan whacks her on the head. “You’re just a baby four-year-old.”

Then Lexie starts screaming and hits Rylan back, and then they’re both crying, and then Mama starts yelling at them to just behave, just once, for the love of all things sacred, and so it’s a long time before we leave for the store. But once we’re there, it’s fun like always: Mama tells us each three things from her list, and we get to pick them out all by ourselves. If we’re really, really good, sometimes she lets us each get a book from the magazine aisle. Those are the best days of all, because there’s nothing more fun than buying new books.

Today’s not the best day, because we don’t get any books at the store. But it’s still a good day, because there was enough money in Daddy’s paycheck to buy all the groceries and pay the bills for this month. That’s what Mama says, anyway. Mama talks a lot about money and bills and Daddy’s paychecks, and sometimes she and Daddy fight about money. They also fight about us kids, because Daddy says he wants another son, and Mama says she’s not having any more babies. The last time Daddy said he wanted another boy, Mama started yelling at him. “Four kids in 7 years, Jake! I’m 26 years old and I have four kids. I’m not going to be one of those women that has seven kids by the time she’s 30.”

But they fight the most when Daddy’s been drinking beer, which is something that only grownups are allowed to drink. I’m never drinking beer, even when I’m a grownup. I’m only going to drink water, lemonade, milk, or Coke, which is my most favorite soda.

When Daddy drinks a lot of beer, he says words that I’m not allowed to say, and sometimes he breaks things, and usually he makes Mama cry. That’s when Lexie and Rylan get in bed with me and cry and ask me why Daddy’s yelling at Mama. I try to be brave, because that’s what a good big sister is supposed to do, but when Daddy gets mad like that, it scares me, too.

I decide to ask Mama about this while I’m helping her put the groceries away at home. “Mama?”

“Hmmm?” Mama is trying to fit all the cans of tomato soup into the cabinet. “What I wouldn’t give for some more cabinet space! Lilly-Girl, what did you need? Don’t try to put that box of stuffing away by yourself; it’s too high for you to reach. You’ll fall off the stool and break your neck.”

“Well, I was thinking…”

“Oh, boy, here we go.” Mama rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You and your deep thoughts, Miss Lilly.”

“Why is Daddy so…mean sometimes?”

Mama puts down the cans of soup and stares at me. “Lilly, what on earth?”

My throat is hurting all of a sudden, and I’m having trouble swallowing, like the time I had strep throat so bad. “He yells at us and says mean things and he scares me. And sometimes we didn’t even do anything bad and he just gets mad and whips us. And he makes you cry a lot.”

Mama’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Lilly-Girl…” She stops and shakes her head at me. “What am I going to do with you, child?”

“Beat the devil outta me?” I suggest. That’s something Daddy says to me a lot when he’s mad: “I’m gonna beat the devil outta you, Lilly Jane!”

Mama has a sad look on her face. “Now you’re learning to talk like him, too. Oh, Lilly, how do I explain this? Your daddy…Well, you know how this time of year there’s a lot of summer rainstorms? And sometimes those storms come up so fast that you hardly even know they’re coming until they start. Remember that day when you and Ry and Lexie were playing out in the field and you all had to run as fast as you could to get into the house before the storm started?”

“I remember that. Lexie was crying cause she was scared, but me and Ry weren’t scared at all.”

“That’s right, sweetie, because you’re a good girl and you’re brave. Well, your daddy is kind of like those summer rainstorms: sometimes he just gets angry, and it happens so fast that you don’t even see it coming. Sometimes we don’t know exactly why he’s mad. Sometimes Daddy doesn’t even know why he gets so angry. He just…” Mama sighs. “Well, your daddy has had a hard life, Lilly. And some of the things that happened to him when he was a little boy still hurt him and when he thinks about those things, he gets angry.”

“Maybe if he didn’t think about those things anymore, he would feel better, right, Mama?”

Mama smiles, but her smile looks sad. “It would be nice if it worked that way, Lilly-Girl. But just remember this: your daddy loves you, and Rylan and Lexie and Kaylee and me, very much, and he doesn’t mean to scare us or make us cry. He can’t help it that he gets angry, and when he drinks that just makes it worse. I’ve asked him so many times to quit, but…” She turns back to the cabinet and starts putting the tomato soup away again. “Enough of this talking. Let’s put the rest of the groceries away before it’s time for me to feed Kaylee.”

“Yes ma’am.” But even though we’re not talking, I keep thinking about what Mama said. Daddy’s like a summer rainstorm? I wish I was a grownup so I could understand everything that grownups say.

Rylan, Lexie, and I play outside all afternoon and build a fort while Kaylee takes a nap and Mama cooks dinner. She hollers for us to come in and wash up for dinner just when Daddy’s truck comes roaring up the driveway. I can always tell if Daddy’s had a good day or a bad day as soon as he walks in the door.

“Daddy!” Rylan and Lexie run over to him and try to hug him, but he pushes them away. That means it’s been a bad day. That also means we all have to be extra-good and very quiet during dinner and bathtime, and not make a fuss when Mama tells us it’s time for bed. Since I’m the big sister, it’s my job to make sure that the little kids listen to Mama and don’t bother Daddy when he’s having a bad day like this.

If it was a good day, Daddy would hug us and kiss Mama, and maybe even help us with our fort after dinner. He would let us each pick a book to read before bed, and then he would play his guitar after Mama tucked us in. He doesn’t do that every night, but it’s always a very good day whenever Daddy plays his guitar. The best nights are when I fall asleep listening to Daddy’s guitar playing.

I slip past Daddy into the kitchen and start setting the table for Mama. Daddy likes it when I help Mama around the house, and maybe if he sees me helping her, he’ll start having a better day and be happier. Daddy walks right past me without saying a word. “What’s for dinner?” he asks Mama.

“Baked potatoes, green beans, and meatloaf. How was your day?” she asks, turning around from the stove to give Daddy a kiss. He shakes his head at her, walks to the refrigerator, and pulls out a beer.

“Jake, can’t you wait till after the kids are in bed?”

Daddy ignores her, drinking the entire beer in a few big gulps and pulling another one out of the fridge. “Lillian, I’ve had a long day. Lay off.”

“Jake, the kids…”

“Lillian! I said lay off.”

“Mama,” I interrupt. “if you hand me the plates I can put them on the table for you.”

Mama looks like she’s just chewed on a lemon as she looks at Daddy pulling a third beer out of the refrigerator. “Thank you, Lilly. Here you go.” She hands me four glass plates, plus a plastic one for Lexie since she isn’t big enough to use a glass plate yet. I’m just about to set them on the table when Rylan comes running into the kitchen. He crashes into me and the plates go flying.

Glass shatters as the plates hit the floor. “Mama, I’m sorry! I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry, I…”

Daddy yanks me by the arm so hard I think my arm might fall off. “Dammit, Lilly, what were you thinking? Why are you so clumsy, girl?”

“Jake, Jake, please,” Mama pleads. “It was an accident. I’ll sweep up the glass and then we’ll eat. She didn’t mean to do it, Honey. Leave the child alone.”

Daddy glares at her. “Leave her alone? Since when are you the boss of this family? Lilly, you and I are going outside for a walk.”

My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might beat right through my chest. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut up. Get your shoes on and meet me in the driveway.”

Rylan and Lexie are both crying, and Kaylee is screaming in her high chair. Mama follows Daddy to the door while I run get my shoes. “Jake! There’s no need to punish her; it was an accident!”

“Shut. Up. Clean up that glass and have my dinner on the table by the time I get back. We’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

Mama steps back from the door and watches me tie my shoes. “Lilly…do what your daddy says and go on outside.”

I’m trying to be brave, but my eyes get all swimmy with tears. “Mama…”

She looks like she’s about to cry, too. “Shhhh, Honey. Go on with your daddy.”

The sky is dark with clouds that weren’t there when Rylan, Lexie, and I were building our fort. If Daddy wasn’t so mad at me, I would take him over and show him what we built, and maybe he’d even help us to make it bigger and stronger. Daddy’s good at building things; he built a dollhouse for me and Lexie last Christmas that had six whole rooms in it. I guess I ruined our chance for getting Daddy’s help tonight, though.

He’s waiting for me at the beginning of the driveway with both hands behind his back. “You’re going to learn to mind, Lilly, if I have to beat it into you. You’ve gotta learn to pay attention and stop being so damn clumsy! You hear me, girl?”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper.

He jerks his chin toward the driveway. “Walk.”

The wind is howling and the sky is getting darker by the second. “Daddy, I think there’s going to be a thunderstorm.” I’m shaking almost as hard as the trees in our yard that are whipping back and forth in the wind.

“Keep your mouth shut and walk, Lilly.”

Swish. There’s a stinging pain across the backs of my legs, and I jerk back around to look at Daddy. That’s when I see the switch in his hands. “Did I tell you to stop walking? Keep going or I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

Swish. Swish. Swish. It seems like our driveway is getting longer and longer the more I walk. My legs feel like they’re on fire; I’ve gotten plenty of whippings before, but never like this. Usually Daddy just gives me a couple swats with the switch or his belt. At the end of the driveway, Daddy makes me turn around and walk back towards the house.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the first few raindrops splatter the gravel in our driveway. My legs hurt so bad I don’t think I can take another step, and I see little black spots in front of my eyes. The spots keep getting bigger and I start feeling dizzy like I did the time I rode the Tilt-a-Whirl at the fair. “Daddy…I can’t…I can’t….see very good.” And then everything gets dark.

Next thing I know, Daddy’s scooping me up and carrying me up the driveway. “Dammit, Lilly...Baby, I’m sorry. I’m taking you back to the house and Mama will fix you right up, okay, sugar?”

            The rain starts pouring right about the time we get back to the trailer. Mama comes to the door. “Jake, oh my God! What did you do to her? Lilly? Baby, don’t cry; don’t cry.” She takes me from Daddy and starts down the hall to the bathroom. “Watch Kaylee,” she snaps over her shoulder at Daddy. I hear the door slam and Mama turns to look down the hall. “Did he just…Oh my God. Rylan! Lexie! Did Daddy just leave?”

            Lexie comes running down the hall. “Mama, Mama! Daddy’s driving away in the truck! You told him to watch Kaylee and he’s not! Mama, he’s not watching Kaylee!”

            “All right, Lexie, all right! I heard you. Go finish eating your dinner, and ask Rylan to watch Kaylee for a minute. I’m going to clean Lilly up real quick.” She carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the sink. “Sit still, Lilly-Girl.”

            “Mama, my legs hurt so bad,” I whimper.

            Lexie stands in the doorway and sucks her thumb. “Mama, what’s wrong with Lilly?”

            “She’s going to be just fine, Lexie. Go eat your dinner, sweetheart.” Lexie doesn’t move. “Lexie Elaine, I told you to go!”

            While Lexie scurries down the hall, Mama takes the hydrogen peroxide and some cotton balls and band aids out of the medicine cabinet. “Honey, this is going to hurt, but I have to clean these cuts up so that they don’t get infected. It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

            Rylan runs into the bathroom. “Mama, what did Daddy do to Lilly? Lexie said…” He stops and stares at my legs. “Mama…Mama, she’s bleeding a lot! Daddy made her bleed!”

            Mama closes her eyes and sighs. “Rylan…Sweetie, please go watch Kaylee. Lilly’s going to be fine. I just need to clean her up and then we’ll all sit down and eat our dinner.”

            “But Mama, Daddy shouldn’t have made her bleed like that. Mama, he hurt her!”

            “You’re right, Rylan, but I need you to go watch Kaylee. Go on now.”

            Mama turns back to the counter and starts dabbing hydrogen peroxide on my legs. I cry harder. “Mama, it hurts!”

            “I know, baby. I know. I’m almost done.”

            My legs hurt even worse after Mama puts peroxide and band-aids on the cuts. She picks me up and holds me like she would if I was Kaylee’s size. “Hush,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “Just hush.”

            Mama sends us all to bed as soon as we finish dinner, even though it’s not our bedtime. Outside the thunderstorm is raging, and the cuts on my legs are still stinging like a bunch of bees have landed on me. Rylan and Lexie have just crawled into my bed when I hear Daddy’s truck pull into the driveway. A few seconds later the door slams so hard it shakes the whole trailer.

            I pull my pillow over my head and try to sleep, but I can still hear Mama screaming at Daddy. “You think you’re going to beat Lilly so bad her legs are covered in blood and I’m going to just let you walk back in here and not say anything? I swear to God, Jake, if you ever do something like that again…”

            Thunder crashes and Lexie squeezes my arm tight. “I’m scared, Lilly.” Rylan grabs my other arm.

            “Don’t be scared. It’s just a summer rainstorm.”

It's amazing what a difference a year can make. Today was one of those days where I conciously took time to stop and think about where I was in life a year ago, and compare that to where I am today. One year ago today, my best friend's 3-year-old nephew, Levi, drowned in a swimming pool. It's such a cliche, but I really cannot believe how fast the time has flown. It doesn't seem possible that it's been a year. 

Levi died on a Thursday afternoon, and my best friend Emma and I had a "phone date" set for that night. I was living in Maryland at the time, and she and I tried to talk at least a couple times every week. We'd set up that Thursday night "phone date" earlier in the week, and I remember texting back and forth with her that morning about what we were each doing that day. That afternoon, the kids and I went to Costco to get groceries, and I texted Emma to ask what time she wanted to talk that evening. I didn't get a reply, which was unusual, but I didn't think too much of it. A couple hours later, another friend from my home church in VA texted me and said, "Did you hear that Emma's nephew Levi drowned in a pool today?"

My initial reaction was utter disbelief. Something like that just couldn't have happened...not in a tiny town like Cumberland, and certainly not to my best friend and her family. I've known their family for almost my whole life, and grew up with them in the same church and homeschool group. After texting a few other mutual friends to make sure the information was true, I called my mom. I started choking up as soon as I heard her voice, and I told her what I knew. She reacted much the same way I had: a long pause, and then "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." 

Levi's funeral was packed, and it was one of the saddest ceremonies I've ever been to. Afterwards, I hugged each member of Emma's family and the only thing I could think to say was how sorry I was. The words seemed so paltry and trite compared to what they were suffering. I wanted to help, but I had no clue how to do that. That night, I had a hard time sleeping, remembering that impossibly tiny casket and the anguish on the faces of Levi's family.

Levi's death marked a turning point in my relationship with God and in my attitude towards church. For several weeks after he died, I was very angry with God; not because I personally had suffered a great loss, but because my best friend and her family were suffering through something that, to me, seemed completely senseless and unfair. "How could you let this happen?" I demanded God. "Why would you let a child die like that?" Levi was the same age as the youngest child I nannied for at the time, and every day when I looked at that sweet boy, I thought about Levi and again asked God, "Why?" It just seemed so blatantly unfair and wrong. I was also furious at the way so many people from my church back home had seemed to abandon this family only a week or two after Levi's death; after all the casseroles and sympathy cards had been sent, and the funeral was over, it seemed that most people just continued on with their lives and the family was left to deal with their grief alone.

In hindsight, I realize that most people, in a situation like that, simply do not know what to say, and that was probably what happened last year. At the time, though, I was incensed that when I asked Emma how she was really doing, a few weeks after Levi's death, she said, "You're the only person who ever really asks me that anymore." Another mutual friend told me that maybe Levi's death was for the best, since he wasn't being raised by Christian parents. The ignorance and arrogance I saw displayed by certain people in the initial days and weeks after his death infuriated me and convinced me that I wanted nothing to do with church or the people in it. I basically quit going to church after that, except for the times I was at home visiting my family. I had had it with hypocrisy and religion. I wanted something more...but I didn't know exactly what.

A year later, I'm living in a different city, different state, and different side of the country, and I can honestly say that I don't feel the way I did a year ago. I grew up a little and realized that, right after Levi's death, no one in our community really knew what to say or do to help his family through that tragedy. When a child dies like that, there just isn't much that you can say to offer comfort. There certainly are no real answers to give. When I moved to CA, I'd been absent from church for about six months--long enough to wrestle through my questions and anger towards God and others, and long enough for me to realize that being a "Lone Ranger" Christian wasn't really something I wanted to do. When I started attending a church here, I was inwardly terrified that it would become yet another religious exercise for me. I was so wrong. All I can say is that God's done an amazing work in my heart and my life since I moved here. He's brought healing where healing was needed, conviction where conviction was needed, and shown me that I needed to forgive the people who angered me so much last June. It's truly been a life-changing experience and I give God all the glory and praise for it.

RIP, Levi. I know you will be forever remembered and forever missed.

Two days ago, C (the oldest kid in the family I worked for in MD) turned 7. I called to wish her a happy birthday, we chatted about her day, and she opened her present from me while I was on the phone with her so that I could "be" there when she opened it. Even over the phone, her personality shone through, as it always does; one adjective to easily describe C would be vivacious. She's always full of energy, and she has a take-charge attitude that's going to take her far in life, even if it used to drive me crazy when she was 4, 5, and 6. This picture of her is one of my favorites because it captures her zany personality:

She's an irrepressible bundle of energy who nearly always speaks her mind and doesn't let anyone dictate how she should act or who she should be, and I love that about her. That's why I was shocked and saddened the day she turned to me and asked, "Elizabeth, do you run so much because you want to stay skinny? Because I want to be skinny like you when I grow up." I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say at first; C was almost 6 at the time, and I remember thinking Why is she worrying about that at all?

It's not the first time that one of the sweet little girls I've babysat or nannied for has said something like that to me, or has expressed a preoccupation with being beautiful, pretty, skinny, or perfect. In fact, every single one of the girls I've taken care of over the years has made some type of comment about wanting to be beautiful, thin, or perfect when they grow up. Even the 2-year-old I currently nanny for talks all the time about wanting to be "bootiful". Is there anything wrong with wanting to be pretty? Of course not, and in a culture where little girls are raised with Barbies and princesses and fairy tales, I suppose some of the talk about being beautiful is to be expected.

What bothers me about it is that so many of these little girls begin to equate "beautiful" with "thin" and "thin" with "perfect". And that, as most of us know, can be the beginning of a long, slippery slope downward. When C first made that comment about wanting to be skinny when she grew up, I was saddened. The more I thought about it, though, the more infuriated I became: how dare our culture--or whatever else it might be--tell a little girl as sweet, intelligent, funny, compassionate, athletic, and vibrant as C that she has to be thin in order to be a worthwhile human being? How could she, at 6, even have any idea that being skinny was something to strive to achieve? This is the same child who, at 4, informed me that she wanted to be the President of the United States when she grew up, because "Hilary Clinton lost the game, but I can still play". Two years later, she's saying she wants to be skinny when she grows up. What happened?

The only way I can think of to try to remedy this situation--short of keeping girls locked up inside without any media influence--is to take a hard look at my own life and make sure that I'm being the best role model that I can be for these precious girls. Because let's be honest: part of what happened to change C's perspective between ages 4 and 6 probably had a lot to do with me, and not in a good way. For much of the time that I lived with her, I was still very disordered in my approach to food, exercise, and weight. More than once she noticed that I wasn't eating lunch with them, or that I skipped dinner to go to the gym. For the first year that I was with their family, I tried to kid myself that because the kids were so young, they must be oblivious to my weird eating habits and how much I hated my weight. I was very careful never to make comments about my weight around them, but C clearly picked up on all the things I wasn't saying. By the time she asked me if I was running so often to stay skinny, I had a much healthier approach toward food and my weight and had discovered the joys of running simply because I loved doing it, but the fact that she asked that question at all means that I hadn't been as positive of a role model as I previously thought.

Each of the little girls I've had the privilege to nanny for (or babysit) over the past several years have made an impression on my heart. Every one of them has wonderful qualities that make them unique and precious, and I don't want to think that in five or ten years, they might have gotten sucked into the belief that their weight defines their worth as a person, or that they have to be thin to be loved. I want to fight the twisted messages that our culture is sending them and instead reassure them of how special they are. They're special not because of their weight or their looks, but because of all the other qualities that make them who they are: their intelligence, their artistic abilities, their love of reading or music, their soccer, softball, or basketball skills, their infectious laughter, and so many other things. I want to be sure that I'm doing everything I can to provide them with a nanny (or babysitter) that they can look up to for all the right reasons. I want to make sure that I'm teaching them things like how to be more loving, generous, kind young ladies, rather than teaching them how to hate their bodies and aspire to be just a pretty face when they grow up. I want them to believe that they can take on the world someday, because they can and I believe they will.