(A cloud or weather phenomenon that warns you of an approaching storm)

The midnight woods hummed with choruses of crickets. Scared, three-year-old Elmira peeped to her left. She noticed no monsters - only sleeping trees. To her right, more trees dozed over tender saplings and premature raspberry bushes.

Mommy, she thought, Mommy, please come quick.

Perhaps in response, something fluttered a few feet away. Her heart completed its very first somersault: was it Mom? She looked up, cautiously, and noticed a tiny orange and black butterfly flapping its wings by the base of an oak tree. Its tiny white dots reflected the moonlight and made Mira feel safe, if only for a moment.

Another noise echoed from deeper in the woods – a thicker, meaner sound. Was that Mom? Or was it the wolves? She froze, too afraid to look. She closed her eyes and squeezed until it hurt, imagining that she was back at home, in bed, with Mom and Dad resting peacefully across the hall.

Twigs crunched. Whatever it was, it – they – were coming closer. The toddler nearly lost her breath to fear as she froze in place. Above her, eerie red lights from the local radio tower pulsed in time with her heart: boom. Boom. Boom. After the sixth pulse, Elmira screamed. Behind a cluster of trees were the wolves.

She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t work. Everything felt as if it were in slow motion; time crept by like it did when she was sick.

“HELP!” she shrieked, her feet confusing each other with twigs on the ground. She splayed her hands and braced herself for impact. “MOMMY!”

The wolves snarled as she risked one last glance. The pack leader was close enough to lunge. She was going to die, and she hadn’t even gotten the chance to decide what she wanted for Christmas.

“Get out of here! Get away from her, you creeps!”

Mira collapsed at the sound of Mom’s strong voice. From a pile of dry leaves and sticks, she watched as her hero shooed the wolves with the Pepto-pink kitchen broom.

“Get! You leave her alone!”

The wolves yipped and ran toward the horizon.

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asked, running toward her.

“They scared me,” the little girl cried. “I almost died.”

“I’ll protect you. Don’t you worry.” Mom picked her daughter up and cuddled her close. “I’ll protect you from those big bad wolves.”

As Mira nestled her head into Mom’s neck, she heard the same gentle flapping noise that she’d heard before the wolves came. She turned to find the butterfly and watched as it fluttered over to the broom’s handle.

“Oooh, look!” Mom shifted Mira on her hip and nodded toward the butterfly. “A monarch, at night! Would you look at that?”

(A potentially dangerous situation where the wind blows backwards into your ship’s sails, causing them to suddenly shift position)

Never in a trillion years did Elmira ever expect that she’d have share her hero.

On the strangest spring afternoon, Dad led her by the hand into a smelly room with bright, ugly lights. Mom lay on a musical bed, her eyes baggy and her mouth smiley. Her hair was what she’d call a bird’s nest.

“Mommy?”

“Hi, honey!” Mom reached out for her daughter to join her on the enchanted bed.

“Why weren’t you and daddy home last night?”

Dad lifted Mira onto the bed and Mom pulled her into her arms. “Because we were here, sweetie. I gave birth to your baby sister.”

“Eeew. Can I see?”

“Of course! But you’ve got to be very, very careful.”

“Okay.”

Dad lifted something from a beeping cradle and gingerly set it in Mom’s arms. Elmira took one look at the thing and frowned.

“Her name is Grace,” Mom said.

“I don’t think I like it,” Mira replied. “It’s ugly.”

“Oh, honey, give her some time. You’ll love her. All babies look funny when they’re just born.”

Dad jumped into action. “You know, Mira, Grace brought you a present.”

“Oh! She did?”

“Yes, she did. I’ve got it right here.” Dad pulled a paper bag out from behind a vinyl recliner and set it on the bed. Curious, Elmira tore out bundles of tissue paper and threw them onto the floor. Mom and Dad smiled as she unearthed her newest treasure.

“It’s a Tigger doll!” she shouted. Startled, Grace wrinkled her face and let out an ear-piercing cry.

“Make it stop!” Mira said, dropping the toy and covering her ears with her hands.

“Mira, that’s enough,” Dad scolded as Mom hushed the tiny alien. “Babies cry.”

“Why?”

“It’s just what they do. Eat, poop, sleep, and cry.”

“That sounds boring. Did I do that?”

“You sure did. You still do.”

Mira hung her head in shame. Dad chuckled and lifted her off the bed. “How about you pick up your mess and we give Mommy some time to herself? Let’s get some lunch.”

“Can we go to Big Boy?”

“If you behave yourself,” Mom said, giving her The Look. “You remember what happened last time we went to Big Boy.”

Elmira sighed. It wasn’t her fault that their crayons kept breaking. If no one knew about it, how could they ever fix the problem?

(A form of nautical punishment where the troublemaker – usually a child – bends over the barrel of a gun and is flogged by one of your most trusted hearties)

The stuffed Tigger and special lunch at Big Boy held Elmira over for almost an entire year. For the first few months she liked Grace a lot. She even decided that she could probably get used to sharing Mom with her. Towards the middle of Grace’s first year, however, she realized that she missed having Mom to herself. In her sweetest voice, Elmira asked Dad to please take Grace away. Dad politely refused.

Months passed. Towards the end of the first year, Elmira realized that Grace wasn’t going anywhere. And she wasn’t happy about it.

“Mom, why does Grace get all the attention?”

Mom sighed. “Mira, Grace is a baby.”

“I’m a baby, too.”

“You aren’t either, sugar. You’re almost four years old. You can do a lot of things for yourself. Grace can’t.”

“Like what?” Elmira pushed away the intriguing contents of Mom’s purse and folded her arms.

“Like getting something to eat. Or drink. Or use the potty.”

Elmira frowned. “Well, I’m lonely.”

“And I’m Mommy. Nice to meet you, lonely. Mira, Grace is helpless right now and she needs me more than you do. I’m doing the best I can to give you my attention, too. It won’t be like this forever. I promise.”

“…Am I still your favorite?”

“You and Grace are both my favorite.”

Elmira collapsed onto the blue carpeting and wept. “But I want to be your only favorite!”

“I know you’re jealous, but you’ve got to get over it,” Mom tried to say gently. “You’ve got to learn how to share.”

(A term used historically to draw attention to something in the water; currently used as a term that means ‘something imminent’)

And so, Elmira became the best sharer that she could possibly be. In preschool, she shared her favorite rice table. In kindergarten, she shared her best friends Veronica and Jessica. In first grade, she shared her reading buddy with another girl named Nina. And all the while, she shared Mom with little Gracie.

How did she share so well? She read. Elmira quickly found that if she was nose-deep in a book, she didn’t have anything to share. Grace wanted to play with her dolls? Okay, she was reading, anyway. Veronica wanted to play with Jessica instead? Okay, she was reading, anyway.

Her favorite stories to read were about a girl named Karen and books about Ramona and Beezus. The only thing was, Something Bad happened in a story about Ramona, and it scared her. It scared her so bad that it seared itself into her brain like a stamp on hot wax.

As she remembered, Ramona and her classmates made blue oatmeal. One day Ramona noticed that she felt funny and couldn’t get her mind off of the oatmeal. While she was at school she looked at the jars and her mind began to swirl. Before she knew it, she threw up in front of her entire class.

This scene lodged itself at the forefront of her mind. When she least expected it, a nauseating image of blue oatmeal popped up like a sick crocus and sent her reeling. The picture was gross; it made her feel like she was going to throw up. She didn’t want to throw up; she hated throwing up. But that only seemed to her feel worse.

Especially at night.

During the day, she had a slight advantage by being conscious. When the blue oatmeal woke her from her sleep, everything scattered into chaos. The sudden yucky feelings, the heat, the tingling at the back of her throat - was she sick? Did she have the flu? Trembling, Mira had to push back the covers and stumble down the hall to her parents’ room.

“Mom, I feel nauseous,” she’d whisper.

Mom would open her eyes. “Do you feel nauseous, or anxious?”

She didn’t know the difference. “Both.”

“Does your tummy hurt?”

“No.”

“You’re anxious. Come here.”

Mira trembled as she climbed into bed next to Mom and pulled the sheets up to her chin. She swallowed against the lump in the back of her throat and scanned the room in fear. She never knew what to look at; everything was scary, dangerous, nauseating.

“Mommy, what’s wrong with me?” she sometimes managed to ask.

“You’re probably just over-excited,” Mom would say. “It’s time to rest now. Go to sleep.”

(A record provided by your ship’s surgeon that lists the names of men unable to report for duty due to illness)

On nights when Mom was in the bath and Grace was fully distracted, Elmira and Dad snuck into the kitchen for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The jar of creamy peanut butter nearly glowed as Dad brought it down from the cupboard. Mira hummed the hallelujah song from church as she retrieved four slices of bread. She absolutely adored Treat Time with Daddy.

The only thing was, Treat Time with Daddy didn’t absolutely adore her.

After a hefty dose of little pink pills, Elmira finally overpowered her wheeze and dozed off. Mom and Dad quietly retreated to their bedroom. Everything seemed well until her chest woke her back up. It was hard to breathe, and she was scared. Mira tossed and turned. As minutes trudged by the heaviness pressed in harder, crushing her. She prepared to sacrifice the little breath she had left to call for help.

But then - just as she began to open her mouth - something beautiful distracted her. At the foot of her bed was a man. It wasn’t just any man; it was a glowing winged man, a creature that reminded her of a human lightbulb. The Glowing Man with Wings hovered between her door and her bed, coming closer yet standing still all at once. Elmira tried to discern whether the being was real or a dream, but it was getting harder to breathe and the coughing hurt. The man smiled and gently placed his hand on her forehead. As it rested there he declared, “Everything is going to be okay. You are going to be okay.”

When Elmira told her about what happened the next morning, Mom didn’t even wait until she finished her cereal to take her to the pediatrician. As soon as they arrived at Dr. Gray’s office, they were whisked to a small room bordered with teddy bears. Dr. Gray had her sit on the paper-covered examination table and looked her over for little red bumps. He confirmed a few, and used his cold hands and cold equipment to inspect her more thoroughly.

“It appears as if she had a concerning allergic reaction,” Dr. Gray said. “Has she eaten anything out of the ordinary in the last 24 hours?”

“She and her father snuck a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while I was in the bath last night,” Mom said.

“How did you know?” Mira asked.

“Because I am your mother.”

“Peanut allergies are increasingly popular in children. Have you noticed any reactions like this in the past?”

Mom sighed and nodded. “She was beginning to get a cough. She’s not supposed to eat peanut butter. I told her father…”

“To confirm our suspicions, I’d like to refer Elmira to an allergy specialist.”

Mom nodded. “That’s fine. What about…what about the…” Mom lowered her voice. “Glowing man with wings.”

Dr. Gray shrugged. “Elmira has a vibrant imagination. No harm was done to her. I see no need for antipsychotics.”

Cautiously, Mom nodded. “Alright, then. When do we see the specialist?”

“This afternoon,” Dr. Gray said. “I’ll have my nurse get you an appointment right away.”

“You’re sure he had wings?” Mom asked as they walked toward the allergy specialist’s office.

“Yep. Big ones. He was pretty.”

“Oh, my God. Elmira…”

“What?”

“I’m installing a security system.”

“Why?”

“And no more peanut butter!”

“Ever?!”

“Ever.”

“But Mom!”

“I’m not going to hear it.”

Mom opened the door and led her extremely upset child into the newly renovated office.

Dr. Allergen led Mom and Mira into a sterile room lined with plastic folding-arm chairs. Elmira watched in horror as nurses repeatedly stabbed the people who sat in these chairs with needles. Elmira’s nurse, whom she had thought she trusted up until that point, sat down and explained the violence. When Nurse Lady asked for her arm, she refused to give it to her.

“Elmira, let the nurse do her job.”

She shook her head.

“If you don’t let the nurse do her job, you’re coming back with your father.”

Mira’s eyes widened. “Dad?”

“Yep. I don’t know what’d be worse - his reaction when I tell him that you wouldn’t let the nurse do her job, or having to come back with him a second time.”

Elmira gulped. “But I’m scared.”

“I’ll be gentle, honey,” Nurse Lady said. Elmira shot her a filthy look and hesitantly reached out her arm. She watched as Nurse Lady made the first few pokes. It hurt, and watching the blood bubble up from the tiny punctures scared her. How many pokes was Nurse Lady going to make? How long would she have to sit there? Why weren’t the other people upset about being stabbed? She pulled her arm away.

“That hurts.”

“I’ll try to be gentler.”

“You’re being very brave,” Mom added.

You’re both liars, Mira thought, and reluctantly held out her forearm a second time. Nurse Lady made a few more pokes, and for her own personal safety, Mira decided that enough was enough. She pulled her arm away for the final time. Why was she expected to sit there and take the stabbing? What naughty thing did she do to deserve such a punishment?

“No more,” she said.

“I need to finish the test,” Nurse Lady said gently. “We’re almost done. You’re doing really, really well.”

“It hurts!”

Nurse Lady sat back. “It’s very important for your health that we complete this test.”

“I don’t care, it hurts.”

“Please, Elmira,” Mom begged. “Behave.”

“No! No more!”

Nurse Lady pushed. Elmira refused. Nurse Lady pushed again. Elmira got mean. A storm erupted, and Mom swore all the way home that she couldn’t wait for her to deal with her father.

Dad was mad, but Elmira was madder. Mom held her captive at the kitchen counter, bound by the eyes on the back of her head until she wrote an apology card with meaning.