A Perfect Number
Six, it was the perfect number. As a kid it seemed everything important came or worked in correspondence with the number six. The mystical bubbly beverage soda (my favorite when little) came in a six-pack, there were six hot dogs in a package and twelve cookies in a dozen— because who eats just one? Not only that, but six makes three groups of two, which is perfect so everyone has a partner for Disney Land rides and no one rides alone. Also, six makes seating in a suburban perfect. There are 3 rows of seats leaving plenty of room for two individuals on a bench with plenty of room to spread out, stretch, and store rations for long car trips. Finally, six wooden chairs placed around an old oak table giving each member of my family their own place to enjoy meals filled with laughter and joy together.
Life seemed  perfect. I loved growing up with a family of six, it seemed it was the perfect number and I cherished every day I spent together with them. My family consisted of my two parents, two older brothers, and then my younger brother and I. Now don’t get me wrong, my family sure disagreed on many things and rarely shared opinions on certain matters, however everything always worked out. One of the best things was the family pairing. My parents naturally went together being married, and my two older brothers combined forces out of similar interest— to torment my younger brother and I. Which  left us to unite in the defense of one another. That bond not only saved us from potential torment, but it formed a friendship that will last a lifetime.
The close-knit friendship between my brothers and I rarely skipped a beat. It didn’t matter if we fought one minute because the next we would go on marvelous adventures and the contention slipped from our minds. We constructed forts from sheets transforming our bedroom into a vibrant Indian tapestry market with only one secret entrance. Together we trekked the frozen tundra of the mysterious new world of the backyard. And in summer we ate otter pops until our mouths no longer resembled a color recognizable to the human eye and our taste buds blasted into shock from the excessive amounts of sugar ingested. Even as time went on and we grew, nothing could stand in our way. We, the youngest in the family prided ourselves on being just that.  Those were the days.
                 The thing about younger years is their predictableness. I loved predictable. I delighted in the idea that when I finally arrived home after school  I found snacks on the table and my mom at home. Every weekday and weekend was the same. Monday through Friday delivered hours of school and play. And Saturdays were my favorite. My parents hated the repetitiveness, but I on the other hand loved waking up early Saturday morning to go watch my brother’s baseball games in the spring, football in the fall, and swimming in the summer. I also enjoyed certain structured activities;  the structure created a secure environment for me. Who knew everything would change so quickly. 
 At age fourteen I never expected my life to flip so suddenly. My Mom talked about wanting to adopt a baby for awhile, but yet nothing really happened. That’s why it came as such a shock when my parents sat all my siblings and I down in the living room to discuss the potential of adding another child to the mix. After a conversation we came to the general consensus adoption would add to the general happiness of the family.After a while we had no luck  adopting an infant .  The talk of adopting slightly older children through the state gradually came to the forefront of conversation. This made me nervous and scared. Like  staying up all night, can’t- stop- thinking- about- horrible- things- that- could- possibly- go- wrong kind of  fears and nightmares. The fear probably came from selfish thoughts but I, for one, didn’t like the idea of change; especially change that I didn’t have control over.
However, one little picture took that fear and erased it from my mind. A photograph of a fair skinned, chubby cheeked little three year old boy. His blue eyes resembled the fresh sky after a rain storm and his vibrant orange hair created an aura of jubilance around him . The first time I saw the picture, my heart started beating as if sounding for battle. Starting out slow and strong and continually increasing in temp. After a minute the perpetual beating left me tired, exhausted and wheezing as if I had just ended a marathon. Something about his smiling face melted my heart like ice cream in the summer sun. I had no idea what, but something about this boy struck my heart, leaving me with a strong yearning to fill it.
Little did I know within a month the void in my heart would be spewing over. After several weeks of finishing up paperwork, home studies and requests for adoption, a red line appeared around a Saturday on the calendar hanging in the kitchen. Before I knew it the day arrived. The night before I wrestled for hours with my sheets and I believe they ended the night victorious leaving me exhausted and feeling sick. The car ride to meet this mystery cherub seemed to drag on as if a four hour long chemistry lecture. The built up anxiety and excitement left my nerves running rampant throughout my body, searching for a way out.
Finally. We had arrived. Excitement, anxiety, curiosity, fear and insecurity all fought within my head and left me in an emotional stupor. As the car filled with my family came to a hault in the parking lot of the Glenns Ferry Park, my eyes scanned back and forth searching for the little boy who for the past month ran around my head leaving little muddy footprints in my dreams. One more glance to the right. Stop. Was that him? Was that the boy who changed my life forever?
The car stopped. I sat there frozen. Frozen like a cold Logan Winter morning. Within an instant my family stepped out of the car and somehow my chilled body followed them. Each step loosened my joints and soon my stride increased in speed. As we walked over to the foster parents I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting towards the red-headed angel throwing baseballs and tumbling towards them. My parents began talking, however their words slowly muffled into silence and my body drifted towards the tiny angel. His un-proportionate chubby body forced my heart to grin and heart to pulse rapidly. His jean shorts, too long for his body, almost reached his ankles and the bright red shirt brought out his sun kissed cheeks. As he smiled his cheeks pushed up on his face closing his eyes into a tiny squint. Every laugh and every smile stole another piece of my heart.  I looked down.  A small baseball stitched with red rolled into my foot. Looking up I saw a chunky little hand point at the ball and the beholder grinning. No introductions needed. Soon the mini world series broke out and the cherub ended the game stealing my heart.
My family and I all loaded back into the car and drove away. I knew from that day on my life would never be the same. I couldn’t wait for the day when the little angel came home. To my home. And let me say life never remained the same. Who said there was a perfect number for anything? Truly was there such a vast difference between six and seven?  Thinking about it we just needed to buy two packs of soda or hot dogs. And really, who doesn't enjoy leftovers? But why stop at seven? Within the next two years three more children came into the life of my family, bringing the Monks family to the perfect number ten.
Our family pictures now have three adorable blue eyed, blond, smiling faces. Overnight my family gained three adorable little sisters at the ages of 4,5 and 7. Similarly as before, as soon as I met this trio of angels my heart was stolen once again. However with them no anxiety was involved. Sure excitement and nerves filled me waiting for the day they came home, but no fears muddled my thoughts. I have come to love all four of my adopted siblings as if they were my own flesh and blood. I can't imagine my life without them in it? The family additions have only added to the perfection. Just think! Now basketball games consist of five on five. Each person brings their own challenges and strengths to the family; and together we fit perfectly. Sure, car trips feel more tightly packed and a new table sits in the dining area, but that just makes dinner more entertaining. Now there is never a dull moment in the Monks’ household. Who says there is a perfect number? Maybe there is, but maybe, just maybe the perfect number is one that brings the most joy and happiness into a life. And for me, that number is ever expanding and eternal.