Guilt. It’s a never ending well that is easily available to all who want. No one limits our consumption as does no one lead us there. We willfully walk, trudge there and by the time we’ve arrived find our thirst unquenchable.
Our Everyday
Sharing our stories, big and small.
Laying asleep with her delicate locks strewn haplessly across her face, a tangle of legs and blankets and the steady slight snore of her breathing filling the room she was beyond the clatter and noise of the household. In her realm of reality mixed with impossibilities, at times providing fantastical experiences and at others delivering great terror, she drifted delicately. On this night she landed somewhere in between. No wicked witches chasing her nor did the skies rain candy. She was merely re-enacting an ordinary moment from the day but with different faces in similar places. It was during this night, in this most ordinary of dreams that something life changing happened. Through the crack in the window, the gods drifted in on the air and whispered the most humorous of jokes into her ear. When she awoke she would not recall the joke, only the humor and she’d carry a grin on her face that entire morning. When asked by her parents the meaning behind her grin she could not explain herself.
In the years ahead this humor will reside deep within her and in times of stress or anxiety provide great comfort. The warmth that contentment brings will radiate from her and affect those around her. She will grow up to be known as the girl with the infectious smile. But it’s more than just that. Much more must exist far beneath to create what we see on the surface. The humor left by the gods will affect her life, each long, full day.
September 14, 2011 was Penny’s first day at Lake Anne Nursery and Kindergarten (LANK). Within the first two months I received two calls of her biting her classmates. Apparently a third incident warrants some sort of “disciplinary action.” Luckily there was never a third. She befriended her lifelong LANK friends, Maddy and Kellen, and navigated the tough seas of strong personalities. Over the three years she learned her colors, shapes, letters, sorting, patterns and rhymes. She went from writing her name backwards to forwards and has added many more words to her writing vocabulary. She learned to share, to use her words and matured into a contributing participant in her class. After three nurturing years in a wonderfully supportive school this girl is ready for Kindergarten.
Four was…
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.
Our Everyday 