i glanced at my daughter at the table and i had a split second of being back 7 years. in our little rosewood house. with the wall to wall carpet that i hated. with the new thin oak trim that i wished was old and wide. with the hiding nooks and crannies. with the backyard cozy and sheltered with clumps of trees. with a reclaimed sense of joy after months of dull and complicated grief. with a one year old boy with round blue eyes and tight bronze skin. with a 5 year old girl with hair like a bird’s nest.
but this isn’t naomi…this is eliza, my five year old of today. my one year old is 9. my 5 year old is 12. we have the expanse of this big old house. we listen to the kids long for wall to wall carpet. we have new nooks and crannies. we still claim the quest for joy. and gratefully, we have the memory of the precious years gone by.