Archive for the 'Sometimes Sweet' Category

School Cancellation Policy

May 16, 2008 | Antique Daddy, School, Sometimes Sweet

We are not a co-sleeping family.  It’s just not what works for us.  But I will admit there are times when I think it would be so very nice if we were.  There are times when I still want to hold my baby close to my heart as I did when he was an infant.  I want to look into his sleeping face and listen to him breathe.  These sweet and uncomplicated days, they are waning.  Too quickly they fly away into the star encrusted galaxy, into forever and beyond. 

 

Lately, Sean will wake up about 5:30 and come get in bed with us.  The gentle jingle jingle of Mr. Monkey announces the arrival of our visitor.  He tip toes to Antique Daddy’s side of the bed. Without a word, he throws a leg over and then clambers over him before wriggling down under the covers between us and falling back to sleep.  Shortly thereafter, I usually get up and enjoy that first cup of coffee and 30 minutes of a peaceful, sound-effects free house.

 

Wednesday morning, I sat at my desk with my coffee and listened to the rain patter against the kitchen window as I worked on a writing project. When I looked up again, I was astonished to see that it was nearly 8am.  The house was still dark.  A storm grumbled quietly off in the distance.  Sean should be up by this time, eating breakfast and getting dressed.  We would be late for school.  Again.  I made my way to my bedroom to get him up and going.

 

In a tangle of sheets and legs and arms, they were folded into the other, like an unopened flower.  I stood there for several minutes, watching them sleep, their breathing, synchronized and as steady and even as the rain that was falling against the windows.  I wondered if their dreams intersected in some unknown and secret place. I thought of how they are linked together for all eternity through me.

 

I could not make myself disturb them.  I did not want to send this moment hurling off into the galaxy.

 

There will be plenty of school days in his life, but the days when he can nestle into the protective curve of his daddy’s arm and dream little boy dreams are too few now.

 

I backed out of the room and quietly shut the door.

 

School was cancelled that day due to snuggling.

Daily Reminders

May 5, 2008 | Always Real, Sometimes Sweet

At four and a half, Sean is getting to the age where his world is rapidly expanding.  Every day, it gets a little more crowded in his world, whereas before, it was just me. I was his whole world.  My starring role in his life is drawing nigh.  I know that.  That’s why I love those times when we are driving in the car.  If only for a few miles, it’s just the two of us.   Plus, he’s strapped in and can’t get away. 

 

On the way to school on Friday morning, I looked in the rearview mirror at him.  He was unusually contemplative.  He was looking out the window, but at the same time, seemed to be lost in himself. So I seized the opportunity.

 

“Sean, I love you so very much. Do you know that?” I asked him.

 

“Yes, I already know that,” he sighed.  “Why do you tell me so much?”

 

“Well two reasons,” I said.

 

“First of all I don’t ever want you to forget.  And second of all, I need to tell you.  My heart just overflows with so much love for you that I have to let some out once in awhile.”

 

“Your heart must really hold a lot,” he said. “Probably about 15 gallons.”

 

“For you?  Way more than 15 gallons,” I said.

 

“Do you love me as much water as there is in the ocean?”

 

“Way more,” I said.

 

“Oh. Well, you were right then,” he conceded, “That is a lot.”

 

“Don’t forget that,” I said.

 

“Okay.  You can remind me again tomorrow if you want.”

 

“You got it,” I said.

 

 

Every day.  Until my very last day.  With my very last breath.  I will remind you.

 

* * *

 

Other reminders:  You are loved, you are wanted, you were longed for, you are a blessing, you delight me, I’m glad I’m your mom, I like you, you are the apple of my eye, you are God’s unique creation, I enjoy your company…

 

 

Pedaling Away From Me

October 16, 2007 | Antique Embarrassment, Sometimes Sweet

Sean has a birthday coming up soon and his father and I have promised him a bicycle.  So for the last month or so, every time we go to Wal-Mart, which is just about every day, we have to go to the bike department and test drive the various models. 

If you have spent any time in the Wal-Mart bicycle department, then you know that as well as having a few floor models “on the floor” they also display them by hanging them from the front tire by a hook. If you have a child, then you also know that the one bike they want to test drive is not on the floor, but hanging from a hook.

Yesterday we were in Wal-Mart and we weren’t in a hurry, so when Sean asked me if I would get him a certain bike down from a hook, I agreed.

Removing those little 20-pound bikes from their hooks is not as easy as it looks.

In order to get the bike he wanted, I had to bend over slightly so as to not bump my head on the bike suspended directly above it.  And then in some sort of Tom Cruise Mission Impossible style move, I had to delicately lift and turn the wheel just so at just the right angle at just the right moment in just the right sequence without gouging my eye out with the handle bar of the neighboring bike or knocking down the entire display of floor models like a line of dominos.  Although that would have been a classic Antique Mommy moment.  But the bike on the hook, it wouldn’t budge. It was like it had been super glued to the hook. So I did what I always do when something doesn’t work – I jiggled it and then I jiggled it harder.

 When it finally began to give, I straightened up just a bit so that I could raise it up and off the hook. And that’s when the strap of my backpack purse caught on a bicycle that was hanging behind me.  And I was kind of stuck.  I wasn’t exactly suspended, but I was on my tip toes and I was tethered and I kind of felt like a guy in a parachute caught in a tree.  And I felt mighty ridiculous.  And so I began praying. “Dear kind and merciful God, please, I beg of you, don’t let any of my neighbors or anyone I know be anywhere near the bicycle department right now.  And also, please God, let the security cameras not be working.  Thank you and Amen.”

So then.

I put the bike back on its hook and then I tried to reach around and unhook myself.  After a good bit of flapping and twisting, it became apparent to me and the little boy who found the whole scene extreeeemely amusing, that I can no longer access that area between my shoulder blades as I could in days of yore and youth.

Then in a move that normally should be reserved for someone wearing sequins and featured on Dancing with the Stars — and never by a mom in a Wal-Mart – I did a little shoulder shimmy and wiggled myself free of the backpack.  Just like Houdini.

Sean squealed and clapped his hands when I finally got his bike down and then he hopped on it and gleefully took a few wobbly laps around the bicycle aisle hollering for all the store to hear, ”Look at me Mom! Look at me!” 

And the sight of that nearly four-year-old boy gleefully pedaling away from me, so happy and so proud to be riding a big bike, put an ostrich egg in my throat.  I stood in the bike department of Wal-Mart trying not to cry.  The journey of his life has begun and every day in some small way, he is pedaling away from me.

 

When You’re Happy And You Know It

July 18, 2007 | Sometimes Sweet

Antique Daddy has been in a bit of a blue funk for a few days, which is extremely rare for him.  That is one of the many things that I love about him – he is a ship on an even keel whereas I am a kayak easily given to spazzing out and flipping over and over and looking ridiculous. 

After dinner we stood in the kitchen and I hugged him and asked him if he was still sad.

Sean overheard this from across the room.  He stopped foraging through his box of Leggos and asked in a worried voice, “Daddy, are you sad?”

Antique Daddy deftly deflected and said, “No Sean, I’m not sad.  Are you sad?”

Sean said, “No, I’m happy. I have my life here.”

Oh that it might always be so!

Antique Daddy and I looked at each other and sighed.  When I grow up, I want to be as wise as a three-year-old.

Contentment.  There is no greater blessing.

 

Over The Rainbow

July 13, 2007 | Sometimes Sweet

The afternoon sun breached the narrow space between the window and the window shade, allowing a sunbeam through. It cut through the glass coffee table and spilled its spectrum of colors into a puddle on the floor.

And that’s where I found the little boy. Lying on the living room floor in a stream of iridescent sunshine.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

“Oh, just soaking up the rainbow,” he said matter-of-factly.  Sometimes, this boy, he is too wise for his years and it makes my heart stop.

The laundry could wait.  I set my laundry basket down and laid down beside him, nose-to-nose and tried to soak him up.  He was the dream that I dared to dream so long ago.  

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

Today, I realized I had made it over the rainbow.

Of Bears And Boys

June 20, 2007 | Sometimes Sweet

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One rainy afternoon last week, Sean and I were snuggled on the sofa together watching a show about bears on Animal Planet.  A young bear scaled a tree with enthusiasm if not grace.

“Now why is that widdle bear not with his mommy?” he asked with concern.

“Well, he is probably big enough to be by himself,” I assured him.  “He probably doesn’t need his mommy to look after him anymore.”

He took a few seconds to consider this and then said in a low and worried voice, “I don’t ever want to be that big.”

I took a few seconds to consider that and said, “Yeah.  Me neither.”

He doesn’t know yet that someday he will itch and yearn to go off and discover the world on his own, that God builds bears and boys with this desire and that it will awaken in him at just the right time.

I’m just not sure God has built me with the desire to let him go.
 
Photo: For now, my cub and I climb trees together.

Of Bears and Boys

Snips And Snails, Sometimes Sweet

Below are the comments for this post that were made before everything was transitioned over from the old site.

The Tradition Continues

June 16, 2007 | Papa Ed, Sometimes Sweet

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On our recent visit to Illinois, Sean got a lesson from Papa Ed in the fine art of goofing off. Of course, he’ll never be as skilled at it as I am, but I have studied under the master for 47 years. And it has served me well.

Happy Father’s Day Daddy. Thanks for holding the nail while I learned to hammer.

The Pinwheel

June 14, 2007 | Memaw, Sometimes Sweet, Wivian

Last week, we drove to Illinois to visit my parents and let Sean OD on popsicles and Wivian.

Knowing that in the coming week, that Wivian would be indulging Sean’s every whim and thereby be promoted to most favored grandmother status, Cleo, my mother-in-law, made a pre-emptive strike in the Grandma Wars and loaded Sean up with seven or eight presents to open along the way.

When we were about a mile away from MeMaw’s house, Sean demanded to open his first present and being the spineless jelly fish of a parent bent on instant gratification that I am, I let him.

From a beautiful gift bag laden with festive ribbon and colorful tissue paper he pulled a twenty-five cent pinwheel.

“Oh my!” he exlaimed. “I can’t believe my eyes! I’ve never seen such a thing!”

And then he spent the next 50 miles holding the pinwheel up to the air conditioning vent and cackling with joy.

If only his thrills would always be so cheap.

The Ponytail

June 4, 2007 | Snips And Snails, Sometimes Sweet

Tonight around 10:30, I made my way to Sean’s room to turn off his lamp and to remove the dealership of matchbox cars from his bed as I do every night.

I looked down into his crib to see him sprawled out in his usual dramatic pose - his forearm draped over his forehead in the manner of Scarlett O’Hara, the other hand across his heart, pledging allegiance, legs bent and poised as though sprinting toward the river of crystal light. Just as I leaned over to cover him up, he opened his eyes and sighed in a low voice, “Hellwoe Mommy.”

“Sean! Why are you still awake? It’s late.” I whisper.

“I just can’t sweep,” he moans, exasperated. “My eyes just won’t stay shut.”

“Oh. Well, what if you and I sit in the rocker for a few minutes? Do you think that would help your eyes shut?” I ask him.

“Oh, yes!” he agrees. He bounds to his feet in one move and stands with his arms stretched out for me to lift him out of his crib. He’s too big to still be in a crib. I know that. But I don’t really care. He is my baby. My only baby. I’m in no hurry to rush him out of his babyhood. I am in no hurry to rush me out of his babyhood.

We stand there for a moment with the crib rails between us. I reach in and cup his face in my hands. I can’t resist rubbing my nose across his. I flash upon the memory of my own mother giving me an Eskimo kiss. He reciprocates leaving a trail of snot behind to tease me. “Yucky!” I say with mock disgust as I wipe my face on his pajama sleeve. He thinks this is funny. He throws his head back and laughs. I notice how his eyes make the shape of a rainbow and squint shut when he laughs. His whole face smiles when he is happy. Like an old fool, it makes my heart sing to think that I have amused him.

I lift him from his bed. He wraps his long legs tightly around my waist and nuzzles my neck and begins to play with my stubby graying ponytail. He smells of baby shampoo and lavender soap.

We sit in the rocker and slowly move forward and back to Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. I think of my wedding day and how in the amber glow of candlelight I floated down the aisle to this song. I think of the look on Antique Daddy’s face, the tears in his eyes, as he reached out for my hand. I had been moving towards that moment and then this one all of my life.

We continue to rock, his heart pressed against mine, his raspy little boy breath circling in my ear. He snuggles deeper into the soft nook under my ear and continues to flip and twirl my ponytail.

“Mommy?”

“Yes Sean?”

“Will you wear a pony tail tomorrow?” he asks sleepily.

“Okay. Sure. I’ll wear a pony tail tomorrow.”

“I want you to wear one every day,” he slurs. “I think you wook so boo-ooh-ti-fwuu-uhl in it,” he yawns.

“Okay then, a ponytail it is. Forever.”

He stroked and smoothed my ponytail until his busy little fingers slowed and then. Stopped. His hand went limp and fell to rest on my back with a gentle thump. Sleep had finally won. I don’t know how long I sat and rocked him, listening to him breathe, the essence of life flowing in and out of his lungs. Finally, I stood and lifted him back into his bed. He shifted until one arm draped across his forehead and the other across his chest.

As I reached for the lamp, I turned and took one last look at my baby. He really is getting too big for that crib. And then I turned out the lights on one more precious day of his babyhood.

Tomorrow I will wear a ponytail.

Put The Cheese Down And Snap Out Of It!

May 31, 2007 | Antique Crazy, Mildly Amusing, Sometimes Sweet

It has been kind of nutty this week. I am having my kitchen cabinets repainted and if this post doesn’t make any sense it’s because I’m still high on White Whisper and Oreos.

Being shut out of my kitchen for two days has meant that I had to make lunch at my coffee table in the den yesterday. Because for some reason that’s where the bread ended up when I had to clear out the kitchen. It seemed logical at the time. Sean thought having a picnic in the den was a great idea and that we should eat every meal at the coffee table. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we used to do that before he came along.

At any rate, when I’ve been in my house for two straight rainy days with my spouse, my child, three painters, paint fumes and no access to my Cheetos, I’m even crankier than when I’ve been on a marathon phone call with the phone company. If you can imagine that.

As I’m sitting on the sofa busily slapping together a sandwich which I know my child will not even eat, he flings himself onto me and hugs me tight around the neck and says, “Put that cheese down woman and snuggle me!”

And so I did.

And that gave me some much needed perspective and vastly improved my attitude.

I’m The Poodiest

May 24, 2007 | Mildly Amusing, Sometimes Sweet, Use Your Words

School is out for the summer and the days are getting longer. Boy oh boy are the days getting longer. Being the sole teacher/disciplinarian/guardian/playmate/muse of a three-year-old boy from sun up to sun down has given me a greater appreciation for Sean’s teachers — even though they slighted him missed the opportunity to feature him in the school slideshow as prominently as my precious beautiful special boy-genius deserves (wink wink).

By dinnertime, I was exhausted. I set down a bowl of hastily made gourmet macaroni and cheese in front of Sean and then I collapsed into my own chair, too tired to eat. Instead I just sat there and watched him clumsily spooning the little orange spirals out of the bowl and into his mouth. I noticed how the afternoon light from the windows outlined his profile with a tiny white line, illuminating the imperceptible baby fine hairs on his face. I thought to myself if I ever get around to doing a painting of him, this is the scene I would paint, his hair the color of an old penny, his impossibly long dark eyelashes, his face outlined with the iridescent glow of sunset.

He stopped eating and looked at me. He gave me a sweet smile that belied the number of times he’d visited the time out corner today.

“I love you Sean,” I said to him.

“I wudz you Mommy,” he replied as he screwed up his face and shyly pressed his ear into his hunched up shoulder.

“You’re a good boy.”

“You’re a good mama,” he enthused pointing his cheese-encrusted spoon at me for emphasis.

Sigh. I thought about that for a moment. I thought about how I had yelled at him earlier in the day. I’m not that good of a mama. But that boy knows I love him with all of my heart. And hopefully that will cover the myriad of mistakes I make in parenting him on any given day.

“Oh Sean,” I confessed more to myself than to him. “You are a better boy than I am a mama.”

“That’s okay,” he consoled, “You are the poodiest wady in the whole woold.”

Man. I’m really going to hate it when his world gets bigger.

Saturday Mornings

May 19, 2007 | Always Real, Sometimes Sweet

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used to mean sleeping in and awaking to my own internal alarm clock, reading the newspaper, working the crossword puzzle, eating brunch out…

Now Saturday mornings mean sleeping in until 6am and awaking to someone jumping on my bed, reading the back of the Bisquick box, figuring out how to turn on the VCR before coffee-provided wherewithall sets in and making pancakes shaped like a snowman on steroids.

The only thing I really miss is the crossword puzzle.

Shortly After 8:30am, They Lived Happily Ever After

May 10, 2007 | Always Real, Antique Crazy, Sometimes Sweet, Sometimes Tart

7am. – Coffee
Pour first cup of coffee. Bump cup on edge of counter. Favorite cup breaks and splashes moderately hot coffee down the front of the cabinets and all over my feet. Do the walking on hot coals dance. Clean up mess.

7:30 – Eggs
Remove egg from carton to crack into pan. Drop egg on my foot en route. Hobble over to the sink to wipe yolk from between toes leaving a trail of egg slime from stove to sink. Clean up mess.

7:40 – Toast
Toast pops up. Reach for butter tub. Knock brand new tub of butter off counter. Splat. Falls open side down – of course - and not just on the floor, but again, on my foot. Hobble over to the sink and wipe butter from between toes. Take note that this is third time I’ve had my foot in the kitchen sink this morning. A new record. Put mostly clean glop of butter back in tub when no one is looking. Clean up mess. Spread questionable butter on cold toast to serve to my child.

7:50 - Call Sean to table to eat toast and eggs. Bump plate on the edge of the table launching scrambled eggs into centerpiece and pile of yesterday’s mail. Pick eggs off the table and put back on plate. Clean up visible mess.

8:10 – Get Dressed
Attempt to improve attitude with tube of mascara. Drop mascara brush down front of white shirt. Watch in amazement as mascara wand rolls off the vanity and – you guessed it – onto my foot. And then onto the rug. Consider kicking mascara wand across the bathroom until I see image of interested 3-year-old in mirror behind me. Make a better bad choice and mutter “damage” under my breath. Wipe mascara from between my toes. Remove rug and shirt to the laundry to join other collateral damage of the morning.

8:30 – Plan Day
Ask Sean what fun thing he’d like to do today. “The funnest thing I can think of is to play with you Mommy,” he says. Heart pops out of my chest and lands in a big sloppy mess at my feet where I splash around in it like Gene Kelly.

Painting

May 5, 2007 | Sometimes Sweet

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I can’t cradle this boy in my arms so much anymore. I miss that intimacy.

But I can spend a rainy morning sitting on the kitchen floor with him, side by side, painting giraffes. We are two artists doing our thing together, without the intrusion of spoken word.

Hanging out together — this is the new intimacy that binds us. It is not flesh to flesh, but it is nourishing and it is satisfying.

April and Ollie

May 4, 2007 | Outsmarted, Sometimes Sweet

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Just beyond our neighborhood live April and Ollie. We pass their place nearly every time we leave the neighborhood and as we do, we slow down, roll down the car windows and shout out a greeting. It’s Texas. We’re friendly here.

They always stop what they are doing, raise their heads and nod back in acknowledgement. Ollie is an old swayback horse. April is a donkey and Ollie’s paramour. Like an old married couple, they are always together.

Last week, as we drove to school, Sean spotted the pair. “Oh Mommy! Slow down! Roll down my window so I can wave!”

“Hu-woe April! Huh-woe Ollie!” he called as he flapped his hand out the window.

“Did they wave back?” I asked.

“Ac-tu-wully, yes,” annunciated my pint-sized professor, “but April and Ollie wave their tails because they don’t have hands.”

I have a b’zillion credit hours to my name yet the best teacher I’ve ever had sits in the backseat of my car.

Heart Pops

April 29, 2007 | Snips And Snails, Sometimes Sweet

Each morning I get up and pour myself a cup of coffee and look forward to sitting quietly and alone on the sofa for thirty minutes before the sun brightens the sky and unleashes a tsunami of crazy on the House of Antique.

One recent morning as I sat on the sofa in the dim glow of the light of the day gathering my thoughts and my wits, I heard the soft squishy footfall of footsie pajamas on the tile. I looked up to see a teddy bear of a little boy with hair spiking out in all directions stumbling towards me with Mr. Monkey in one hand and his blanket in the other.

“Good morning Seanshine,” I greeted him. “Come here and give mama hugs and kisses.”

He climbed up in my lap and squeezed my neck tight. I buried my face in the nape of his neck and nuzzled him. He smelled deliciously sweet of sleep and I wanted to inhale him right down into my lungs and beyond into the safety of my soul and keep him there forever. He pulled back and kissed me on the eyeball.

And then he scrambled down as if he just remembered he had something more important to do.

Sigh. Oh well, I thought, at least I will have this moment to look back upon later in the day when he informs me ‘I don’t wuds you anymore’ when I refuse to let him eat gummy bears for lunch.

Then without prompting he turned, climbed back up into my lap and gave me another hug and a kiss.

“More just popped out of my heart!” he exclaimed.

May his heart always overflow with so much love that it can’t be contained and pops right out.

Yellow Lab Advice

April 13, 2007 | Always Real, Faith, Sometimes Sweet

As I was driving Sean to school yesterday morning, I spotted a man jogging with his dog.

I didn’t take notice of the man, but the dog caught my eye. It was a Yellow Lab. I took a second look in my rear view mirror as I drove slowly past. In his mouth, the dog had a dirty tennis ball. He had his tail high in the air. He seemed to be smiling. He would occasionally look up at his master, step a little higher and wag his tail. This dog, he was radiating joy. Contentment. Happiness. He had everything he needed. He was with his most favorite person in the world and he had a toy ready in case someone wanted to play.

I think God put Labs on earth to remind us that we don’t really need as much as we think we do to be happy. All we really need is to be with the people we love. And maybe a toy in case someone wants to play.

Living Beyond

April 5, 2007 | Antique Childhood, Faith, Sometimes Sweet

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Since my mother’s sister died in January, my cousins have been dealing with the exhausting task of going through their mother’s belongings. There is a lot of agonizing and sorting and deciding that must be done when trying to dismantle the accumulation of a lifetime.

In a package of things they returned to my mother, there was a picture of me when I was about the same age that Sean is now. When my mother came out to visit recently, she gave the picture to me. I hadn’t seen the picture before and when she handed it to me I was struck by how much of Sean I saw in my own face. Not so much in features, although there is certainly some of that, but something beyond that. Something that can’t be described in words or explained by genetics. Something impish behind the eyes, an almost imperceptible curl of the lip or lift of the brow — something so intimate that it can only be discerned from having looked into a mirror for 47 years.

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As I held the picture in my hand, peering 44 years back into time, it made my knees weak to see the likeness of my son in my own three-year-old face. I could only think about how in the weaving of the great tapestry of life, God himself picks and chooses tiny filament threads to carry over from parent to child, from one generation to the next, binding us all together through the ages with the double helix of DNA or some other invisible something that is not yet known to man.

I thought about how it is through Sean and the miracle that is his life that I might possibly live beyond my own allotted days on this earth and into a future I will not know and can’t anticipate or comprehend, a time that will be attended to by faces that I will never see, whose names I will never know. I will return to the dust from whence I came. No matter how remarkably I live out my life, sooner rather than later, time will erase every trace and memory that I was here….

Except maybe… at some appointed time in a distant future, God will craft another funny face with something impish behind the eyes and an imperceptible curl of the lip or lift of the brow. And then, even though I might have been forgotten, I will not be gone.

Living Gesturally

March 28, 2007 | Always Real, Sometimes Sweet

When I was studying art in college, one of the exercises the professor had us do at the beginning of every class was a series of gestural drawings. A model would come into the studio, disrobe, strike a pose and then we would have 10-15 seconds to capture the line, the attitude and the form before he or she struck another pose.

The value of this exercise was that it taught me to see - to see what was important, what was essential. I learned to quickly capture the essence of a composition with just a few simple lines.

Now that I have a three year old, I don’t get to spend much time in my art studio, but I still use this same technique, only now I use words on scraps of paper instead of charcoal on newsprint. Like the gestural drawings, sometimes I’ll see something in what I’ve recorded that can be worked into a greater composition and other times I’ll look at a nonsensical string of words and wonder if Sudafed should really be an over-the-counter drug.

Earlier this week I opened the drawer of my nightstand so that I could sweep everything off the top and into the waiting drawer with my forearm. Dusting and cleaning all in one economic motion. Down in the dark recesses of the drawer, a small scrap of paper with my own handwriting caught my eye. I picked it up and read it:

Sean on tricycle, helmet, mails here, chapstick

While those words would make no sense to anyone else, for me they reconstituted a sweet and previously forgotten moment and brought it back to life.

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A day or two after I returned home from the hospital last month, I was resting in bed. Bringggg-bringggg! Sean announced his arrival by furiously working the bell on his little red Radio Flyer tricycle. He pedaled into my bedroom wearing a helmet. “Mail’s here ma’am,” he announced. Then he got off of his tricycle, opened the trunk and pulled out some coupons and junk mail. He handed them to me and then extended his other hand so that I could pull him up into bed with me. He was quickly distracted from his postal duties by the tube of Chapstick on my nightstand. “Can I use your Chapstick? My wips are willy willy chapped,” he said somberly. Before I could grant permission, he grabbed the tube and vigorously smeared Chapstick in a big circle around but not on his lips. “Want some?” he offered, holding the waxy stub up for me to see. When I declined, he scampered down out of my bed, got back on his bike and rode out of the room ringing his bell.

I smiled to myself as I looked at those few words scribbled on the back of a dry cleaning coupon. A verbal snapshot. I was reminded that it is the small, spare and even unremarkable memories that are the very essence of life. And maybe, even more so than grand moments in life — the weddings and the graduations –they are worthy of capturing and preserving.

And I think that’s why I blog.