It is with my iphone, most of all, that I capture those tiny moments and details through which I glimpse the eternal. Here are some, from the 7th birthday edition.
The view from the sink at our dear friends’ house in New Hampshire where we spent Martin Luther King weekend. I remember the weekend when that red barn went up. Now it is time-scarred and worn. More evidence of life, leaving its mark on all of us, in ways both visible and unseen.
Reading to a six year old before bed for the very last time in my life. After putting him to bed I bawled my eyes out. I know, I know, I know: very ending is a new beginning, and it does just keep getting better and better. Still, something is ending, and I’m incapable of not mourning that.
On Whit’s birthday I found him standing, silently, in my office looking out the window at the snow. He was delighted beyond words at the white world. When we got to school, both kids and Matt made tracks in the fresh, untouched blanket of snow.
The message Whit left in the snow: I’m 7. It reminded me of our late-summer day at Crane’s Beach, when the children both wrote in the sand and then watched their messages eroded by the inexorably rising tide.
We celebrated Whit’s birthday with dinner at home. My parents and Matt’s dad joined us for pizza, roast chicken, and salad with homemade croutons (Whit chose the menu). The birthday boy’s cake request was chocolate, with chocolate icing.
Our front door. I actually dislike Valentine’s Day, and always have. I like its decorations, though, and I finally realized it is because I love red and pink together. This wreath makes me smile every time I come home.
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