Cadence twists her fingers over my ear lobes, fiddling with my crystal earring.

“Careful. You gotta be soft,” I say. I wince at her little tugs. My ears were re-pierced a couple weeks ago, and this one is still tender.

“Mommy, you have eaws piewced?” I answer that I do as she bounces to the end of my bed. “Can I have eaws piewced?” Jake and I exchange surprised glances that ask do-we-dare?  We’d agreed a long time ago that we’d let Cadence decide when she wanted to get her ears pierced. We never imagined she’d be asking at two years old.

The next few hours consist of debates over whether to buy Jake a used motorcycle we’ve looked at, and trying to convince Cadence that piercing her ears will hurt.

“No, I not gonna huwt. I get eaws piewced.” Yeah, it doesn’t work that way, but she’s not listening. Jake holds her over the jewelry counter, pointing at various pairs of earrings.

“Do you want blue flowers? Do you want hearts? You can have white ones, like Mommy’s.”

I notice that her birthstone is pale pink and point it out to her. “Look Cadence, you can get pink.”

Her finger hovers over a section near the bottom of the case. “I want blue.” It takes us a few moments to figure out the blue she wants is really the aquamarine color I’d mistaken for green. She waits on the ear piercing chair with an excited smile. Her shoulders shrink up, and she turns her head into a cabinet as the jewelry clerks raise their guns to her ears. Jake swings her into his lap and the process continues, the innocent smile glued to her face.

The clerks count: one, two,… three! Cadence’s shoulders are up to her ears, but it’s too late to protect them. Her face looks betrayed, then in pain. Her howls fill the store, tears spilling down her cheeks. Jake cuddles her to his shoulder, and I crowd near to offer my comfort, a sleeping Hana momentarily neglected.

Through the howls we decipher a few words. “I don’t want blue, Daddy. I don’t want eaws piewced.” What is that saying: the best lessons learned are something, something, something…? Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it applies here.

We pile into our car, Cadence sniffling in the back, Hana sleeping, and Jake nervous over his motorcycle purchase.

Bumps and crashes come from Cadence’s room. The mess that was centered by her closet is certainly migrating to the rest of the room. Cadence is never satisfied until Jake and I have to tiptoe over toy debris to kiss her good night. Good nights are already over, though. She is wasting time until her eyes will no longer stay open.

Beautiful silence comes from Hana’s room. Her miniature fists are tucked behind her head in a pose too provacative for anyone under eighteen, but she pulls it off with a peaceful innocence that melts my mommy heart.

The sky, paved with clouds of wet cement, is darkening to a slate gray and on to a dismal gray-black that masks the stars. An occasional plane dots the skies. What could have been a perfect day is lost. Our park plans were abandoned to the same wind that tossed my skirt with immodest declarations and left Hana gasping for air. It is dying down, now that the day is gone.

I feel robbed.