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June 30, 2011

Time keeps on ticking

July2

 
Right now I'm listening to 'Landslide,' the Dixie Chicks version, and crying. There's just something about this song. Every time I hear it I'm done, sobbing like an idiot.

But then, maybe I'm just quick to tears these days. It's been a hard couple of weeks. My grandma died on the weekend. It wasn't sudden, I guess, but it seemed that way, and came just as we were all trying to wrap our heads around a different family tragedy. It's strange, isn't it? No matter how prepared you think you are, no matter how clearly you see it inching closer, death always seems to come as a surprise. An entire day passed before it struck me that I have no grandparents left.

I suddenly feel very conscious of the passing of time.

I can see it in my Mads, in her changing face and long, lean limbs. I can see it in the way she chews on the ends of her hair, in the way she has little time left for bluebirds and ladybugs. I can see it in my sweet baby A, who is becoming less of a baby every day. Sometimes it seems as though the days are racing by us.

Things are framed by sadness at the moment, but through it I see how lucky I am: For all the memories already made and all those yet to come.

care xo

(pic: Granny & Mads)

June 30, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack

June 02, 2011

Secrets

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The other day I sat on the bed sorting through a mountain of laundry, Mads jumping crazy, spinning circles around the piles. Finally she collapsed, her cheeks rosy and hair damp with sweat.

“I have a secret,” she told me, out of the blue.
“You do? What is it?” I asked, trying to sound casual, trying not to beg her to spill it, to tell me.  
“I can’t tell you… it’s a secret,” she said, drawing the last word out as though I might not know what it means.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”  

I folded a few more tiny T-shirts, everything pink and spattered with glitter.

“Is it your secret or did somebody else tell it you?” I asked her, not quite ready to let it go.
“It’s mine.”
“Well, if it’s your secret then you can tell me if you want to,” I reasoned. “It’s up to you.”

She fixed her eyes on me for several seconds, trying to decide if I was worthy of it.

“Okay, I can tell you,” she finally announced.

She scooted over next to me, half on my lap as she leaned her head against mine, her mouth against my ear, her arm wrapped around the back of my neck. Even though we were the only ones home she whispered it, her tiny secret, to me in a quiet, hushed voice.

Honestly, I can’t really recall exactly what she said – and of course I wouldn’t tell you anyways. It went on for a while, going off track, up, down and sideways, the way tales usually do when they’re told by a preschooler. But the moment wasn’t lost on me. My little girl, with one tiny foot dipped in the big, wide world, sharing stories that are all her own.

One day I know she’ll have secrets that she won’t want to tell me. But not yet.

June 2, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

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"Having a two-year-old is like having a blender that you don't have the top for." ~Jerry Seinfeld.

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