Glitter in the dryer lint always makes me smile. It is my modern telegraph from the angels, a gentle nudge as if to whisper, "Hey, remember when the life you are living now was only a mere fantasy in your head? Well, it is here, it is now, and you are living it baby! There are sized 12 to 18 month clothes in your washer and they belong to your daughter, who grew in you. Although your body fails you on a daily basis, never lose the wonder of how it was able to produce a perfectly healthy jumping fairy, with red curls that dance in the beams of afternoon light."
She reaches for my hand as we take out the garbage. I don't have to ask, it is a silent gesture. How is she able to walk on her own out in the dark of night? Over steps and down a concrete driveway? I scoop her up nonetheless, simply because I can.
Her arms swing high and point in different directions, looking for the moon. It is hiding tonight beneath layers of February clouds. She points to a star and tells me "Momma, fly!" she does this often when we look for the moon. She flaps her arms and I ask, "You want to fly?" She nods enthusiastically, "Uh huh!"
Reading books to our girl at night preparing for sweet sleep I catch Rory staring at me. I ask, "What?" His response? "I just like to look at your face."