This was a post that I started in August 2013 and rediscovered in July 2018. There were no words. Just this photo. For obvious reasons, I am not able to click "delete draft." Also, I wonder if I could find Maggie's pants in my size?
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
For Obvi
This was a post that I started in August 2013 and rediscovered in July 2018. There were no words. Just this photo. For obvious reasons, I am not able to click "delete draft." Also, I wonder if I could find Maggie's pants in my size?
How to Recall
Things that I love about July, an incomplete list:
The sun.
The hot.
The early mornings and late nights.
The exponentially declining Junebug population.
Our anniversary, its associated free childcare (thank you!), and the luxury of time for long conversations that are predictably both nostalgic of our pre-parenthood selves and future focused on the decent and educated humans we are working so hard to contribute to society.
The rest of this post was drafted nearly three years ago. It has been about that long since we visited our blog, and we may have never returned if it weren't for that moment over beers when we couldn't quite remember how old Greta was when she mowed the left side of her hair. She was three. I was working 24-hour shifts, and we were trying to save money on daycare on my post-call days. We did save money. And my toddlers learned independence?
So, in the name of more vividly remembering important milestones during future anniversary cocktails, we will try to restart the blogging.
- - -
This, from September 2015 (with photos that are more recent), which mostly still rings true for me in July 2018.
- - -
Things that are bigger than me, a short list:
The sun.
Trees. Lots of them, anyway.
Love of desserts.
Love of bedheads.
The colorful curse word that was NOT heard by every living thing in Kinnickinnic State Park when a wasp got stuck in my shoe today.
The relentlessness of time.
The sense that I'm doing it all wrong, most of the time.
The sense that I know how to do it right, but it would be very hard, and far too scary.
My love for these people.
The wish that they would just stop, just for a second. Stop arguing. Stop making enormous messes. Stop eating nothing but peanut butter sandwiches. Stop pleading for the iPad, the TV, the computer. Stop shedding their baby fat and learning the correct way to pronounce "caterpillar." Stop planning for orthodontic treatment to change a smile that is uniquely and belovedly perfect. Stop discovering a passion for one big thing, and pursuing it with a focus I would have imagined beyond their maturity.
The gratitude that none of it has stopped. That I am granted day after day to watch these lives unfold.
The sun.
The hot.
The early mornings and late nights.
The exponentially declining Junebug population.
Our anniversary, its associated free childcare (thank you!), and the luxury of time for long conversations that are predictably both nostalgic of our pre-parenthood selves and future focused on the decent and educated humans we are working so hard to contribute to society.
The rest of this post was drafted nearly three years ago. It has been about that long since we visited our blog, and we may have never returned if it weren't for that moment over beers when we couldn't quite remember how old Greta was when she mowed the left side of her hair. She was three. I was working 24-hour shifts, and we were trying to save money on daycare on my post-call days. We did save money. And my toddlers learned independence?
So, in the name of more vividly remembering important milestones during future anniversary cocktails, we will try to restart the blogging.
- - -
This, from September 2015 (with photos that are more recent), which mostly still rings true for me in July 2018.
- - -
Things that are bigger than me, a short list:
The sun.
Trees. Lots of them, anyway.
Love of desserts.
Love of bedheads.
The colorful curse word that was NOT heard by every living thing in Kinnickinnic State Park when a wasp got stuck in my shoe today.
The relentlessness of time.
The sense that I'm doing it all wrong, most of the time.
The sense that I know how to do it right, but it would be very hard, and far too scary.
My love for these people.
The wish that they would just stop, just for a second. Stop arguing. Stop making enormous messes. Stop eating nothing but peanut butter sandwiches. Stop pleading for the iPad, the TV, the computer. Stop shedding their baby fat and learning the correct way to pronounce "caterpillar." Stop planning for orthodontic treatment to change a smile that is uniquely and belovedly perfect. Stop discovering a passion for one big thing, and pursuing it with a focus I would have imagined beyond their maturity.
The gratitude that none of it has stopped. That I am granted day after day to watch these lives unfold.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)