I was just in the drafts folder of my blog last night, deleting some that are nothing more than a title, or a few notes that barely point to what subject I intended. Others were pictures, or a story. I’m not sure why some were never published, as they’re nearly complete. I just didn’t have time to return to it? Thought better of it? Forgot? Some of the pictures made me a little sad in that familiar time-moves-too-fast way. There was this one I titled, “We got out of the house by ourselves!” that I wrote about a month after Anders was born. It’s a picture of Parker sitting on a cafe bench and Anders is a tiny little thing in the carseat. I remember that day because I think it was one of the first times I got out with the both of them (you remember it was the snowiest winter ever) and we got some food at a cafe before making our way home. I ran into a friend, Anders neither needed his diaper changed or freaked out, it was a success. Another was simply this picture above. Another was about how at around 2 1/2 Parker began recognizing letters and we were at the mall. He saw Sephora and began, “S E P Pahkah H O R A.” He always used to say “P Pahkah” as though it was all a part of the letter P. I had completely forgotten. Then another about praying with Parker as I put him to bed and how he used to say Amem after I said Amen. I hardly remember that. In fact, at some point I guess he just stopped saying Amem, and then he said Amen, and I never thought of it again (until I read it in my drafts folder).
The point is, how do these rote things become so easily forgotten? These things we do or hear or see over and over again are the first things to sort of be shuffled behind all the big events, the strange ones, the once-in-a-lifetimes. But it’s these ordinary ones that are so special. That’s where life happens.
