Each first reopens the wound. It might be picking at the edges of the scab; just enough to satisfy the itch and prickle the nerves, or it to rip it right off entirely exposing the raw new flesh encircling the deep gaping hole in the middle.
It was a long, muggy summer, made even more uncomfortable by my being laid up with a broken ankle. September drew to a close and having just been cleared to bear weight on my booted left leg, and with my kids (finally) back in school, I gleefully escaped the Big Apple to go down the…
Sure, it was borderline trickster behavior, but I thought it was cute. My son, then 5, was thrilled Donnie had done something (anything) original. My daughter, who was just shy of her fourth birthday, was immediately pissed off.
I know, I was shocked too.
I watched them closely, not because I was concerned, but rather because this kid had everything I’d ever crushed on when I was a young girl.
I silently hoped my children would grow to be as resilient. It has never crossed my mind they won’t need to be.
Opening the bright pink package she discovered not only had the fun arrived, it was full of items featuring the fiercest, feistiest princess of them all: Merida.
All of this happened on a playground, with my children under my feet, and dozens of other caregivers and kids standing witness, their jaws agape. Take it personally? You bet I will.
As a child I lived on base. We stopped and turned in the direction of the flag every night at dusk, whether it was in view or not. We stood silently as Taps played. We honored the flag, all it represents, and all who serve.
That said, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
It is one of the most frustrating parts of being a parent; just as some real conversation starts, Life happens (or a shiny object skips across the mind’s eye), and you put the moment on hold. Once you circle back to the topic your kid has forgotten what they wanted to say.
Is it a perfect photograph? Are the colors less beautiful for the softness of the focus? In reality there is no such thing as perfection, for certainly beauty is subjective.