Right now, I can’t imagine forgetting one single thing.  How could I?

This sweet little smile, the pinching of skin at the sides of her eyes, the dimples below the corners of her lips.  That smile that is all mischief, the one that is pure joy, the one that is Ican’tcontrolmyselfgigglingbellylaughter.  The feel of her soft, curly, crazy hair.  The sound of her voice, babbling nonsense and forming new words. 

The knuckle bump.

The knuckle bump!

Her boodie-shaking, head-bobbing, arm-flailing, body-leaning, shoulder-bouncing dance style.  Her sweet, sweet singing voice.

I won’t forget any of this, will I?  How soft this forearm?  The exact curve of this cheek?  This precise intonation of the word she uses for “bird?”  Just how soft and snuggly?  I’ll remember every little detail, right?

Oh, please don’t answer that.  I already know.

-Bellow, Saul

Today, for various reasons (including, but not limited to: lack of sleep, rain, cold weather, and greasy hair), I am choosing to remain holed up here in my hermitage.  Except it’s not a hermitage because it includes a certain 18-month-old and a certain 4-year-old.  And hermits live alone.

Sigh.  To be alone.

So, I am we are here at home today, fulfilling that stay-at-home stereotype.  Except we haven’t actually been home the entire time.  And we’ve only actually been inside for an hour and a half.  And…

Do you know what?  I’m just going to stop now, since it appears I cannot manage a coherent thought without contradicting it.  I really meant to post something about stillness, inner peace, creative reception.  I was going to tell you about the moments of quiet connection that my children and I have shared, and about the inspiration I have passively obtained. 

But all I’ve done is introduced you to my split personality disorder.  Which is fun, too.

This is a photo of me. 

I’m… the one on the right.

My dad made this image! I love it (not because I was cute once and I cling to that with every fiber of my being, but) because I know the process that went into its creation.  He not only took the photograph but he also printed it in his home darkroom  for a photography class.   I knew the smell of fixer reminded me of something.  Dad, you’ll have to come up with a quote for this one…