One: A boy, 6 and a half years old. Dirt under his fingernails. He wore camouflage pajama pants with a hole in the knee. His shirt wound up with a chocolate streak down the front. One more loose tooth in a body that seems far too large for the little baby I could have swore he still was. He is constantly in wonder, his life these days a perpetual question. Today, as we fed ducks, “Are ducks birds? Why do ducks like bread? Do birds like bread? Why do birds lay eggs?” This went on for awhile.
Two: His brother, just turned 4. The brightest smile I’ve ever come across and mischief in Transformer shoes. Yet when he’s on, I know what a great kid he can be. “Make a face”, he says in the morning when the bathroom mirror is foggy. He worked so hard to maintain his concentration at class today, putting together puzzles and picking up the pieces to put in a bin. A Buzz Lightyear sticker that he wore on his arm. We held hands and laughed as the wind tried to blow us away.
Three: A girl, on her way to 2. How could that be possible? Knows exactly what she wants and doesn’t accept any substitutes. The fiercest temper. Curls forming at the sides of her hair, long wisps sticking out from behind her ears. I could hear her calling for “Mommy!” before I ever opened the door today. She makes my heart melt and cry at the same time. She skipped her nap and fell asleep on daddy’s chest, barely waking as I tucked her under her soft covers.
The narrations of today are tomorrow’s memories of yesterday.
Time is a funny thing. We try so hard for it to speed up and then wonder why it won’t slow down. Day in and day out is easy to forget. That’s why I write, here. So that I can remember, at least partial pieces. Before it’s all nothing more than a blur in a disjointed memory.