When I first met you I gasped. You were beautiful.
You didn’t have stranger anxiety, you had “anybody but Mommy” anxiety. Your eyes would follow me around a room like a painting in a haunted house. Always searching for me, never calming until I was near.
Nothing marks the passing of time like children. With each new milestone and achievement comes excitement and sadness. Because as you move forward you always leave something behind.
I can’t slow them down but I can take an hour on a Sunday afternoon and make it last a lifetime.
Memories from childhood are tricky because they feel like dreams leaving us to wonder, did it really happen? One distinct memory I have is being with my Mom and Dad at a friend’s house. For some reason on this night I was the only child with them. With dinner done I was ready to go home but the lights went off, furniture was moved and dancing began. Sitting in my Mom’s friend’s lap I observed my parents as I rarely ever saw them, laughing and dancing.
This is a special memory of my Mother because I have no other that are like this. In the following years my Mother dove deeper and deeper into her religion leaving no trace of her former self. She is so wholly defined by her beliefs that its hard to distinguish the woman from her religion.
But once upon a time she was more like me.
I might not have inherited her eyes or nose but I inherited her sense of humor and big, beautiful laugh, the kind that echos and startles, annoying those that are not laughing with you and cracking up those that are.
It is April 2014. A drive into DC to the O Street Museum transports us to…
The 1800s where we sit in a parlor room complete with chandeliers and lace and enjoy Sunday brunch with deviled eggs, smoked salmon, waffles, an omelet station and bacon.
Oliver’s Self Portrait, April 2014
I am four, almost five. My shoes sparkle and my party dress flatters even when I run. My hair flies free and falls in my face which I sweep away with the back of my hand. My smile reveals my slightly crooked bottom tooth which is correcting with age but I prefer silly faces.
“Like” me please!
Easter is about spring dresses, bonnets, collared shirts, baskets, colored eggs and the resurrection of Jesus Christ our savior. Easter, like every other holiday and non-holiday (can you believe Halloween isn’t a holiday?) is a reason to have a party.
With the lure of over two hundred eggs hidden the kids suffer our demands for photos and squeeze out the most genuine of smiles.
“Simple creative activities are some of the building blocks of child development”
– PBS
Before children can read or write they create art. They’ll paint, glue, cut, color and sticker many times over before they write their first letter. As adults we create art to convey what we desire while for children their art communicates exactly who they are, no pretense, no manipulation.
Lucas’ attempt to remove an unwanted sticker created a crack in his egg which prompted him to write “I got body pearst”. Creatively done he started nibbling at the crack. Appalled, I told him to stop eating his egg guy.
“You are evidence of your mother’s strength, especially if you are rebellious.”
– Criss Jami
Our Everyday 