Melted snow penguins on the back porch. Red pepper relish with dinner. A balmy 56 degree day in the middle of January and we didn’t even think to open the windows.
Bee is making obstacle courses, making dinner. Are you gonna use those chives? she asks of the parsley.
—
This morning, she takes a pen to her Junie B. Jones chapter, strikes out words like stupid, crybaby, hate. Inappropriate, she mutters, cross-legged with a Sharpie cap in her teeth.
I tell her she’d make an excellent editor someday, but she wants to be a “biological mother” married to a cowboy.
I don’t tell her she can be both.
Sounds: The quiet rap-rap-slide of the Sorry board. Yesterday’s boots thumping in the dryer. A sparrow’s call, while on our walk.
He says poomba for all things culinary, and somehow we know the difference, every last one of us. We know the times that poomba means spoon; we know the times that poomba means fork. Yesterday, poomba meant curry-from-his-hands, and miraculously, even that was no surprise.
Bamma is salami, and also football.
—
In the evening, I offer him a flameless candle to smell. Hot, he says, in perfect annunciation, a chubby hand flying up to shield one eye.
Daily, we learn his language. There’s an entire civilization in there.
A reminder, scrawled hurriedly on the back of the grocery list:
When things are taking their ordinary course, it is hard to remember what matters. There are so many things you would never think to tell anyone. And I believe they may be the things that mean most to you, and that even your own child would have to know in order to know you well at all. -Marilynne Robinson
My friend’s daughter asks me about college – what was it like? – and I find I’ve forgotten most except for a September afternoon when the sun was low and bright and gold, Ken and I walking to class from the commuter lot, me in my head singing Dashboard lyrics from the car CD player he installed, me wearing Lovespell lotion on my arms, me having just learned the word substratum in biology, beginning to understand it all.
—
A voicemail from my father: Tell Ken the lumberyard is having their big bag sale, but only through Sunday.
That Robinson quote! All the heart eyes.
Right? I love everything she writes.
I was thinking of re-reading Lila yesterday, and this seems to be a sign.
Lila is on my nightstand right now!!! Love it so so much.
I never comment on blogs that I follow but I just had to today! You are a wonderful writer. I loved your book and I continue to love your blog. Thanks for keeping things simple, honest, and heartfelt. You’re doing it right! (Isn’t that nice to hear sometimes?!)
Thank you so much, Haley — such kind encouragement to receive today!
“A biological mother” LOL! That’s one I haven’t heard before, but I applaud her vocabulary.
Ha – she’s very literal. :)
Forrest’s first priority is to Be A Dad. Right now. We haven’t gone deeply into the biological reasons why that isn’t possible, but we do discuss how gets to be a dad *and* a police man/ninja/astronaut/vet/dinosaur scientist… these little moments make up such beautiful days, even when I forget to notice them. Thank you, again, for the beautiful reminder.
Love this so much, Jamie – Forrest and Bee are always so very in sync! :)
that college flashback! gold!
Thank you, Hannah!
I love, love, love your writing. Your book, your blog, everything. It speaks to my heart and I want to be your friend. 😊
You’re so kind, Diana!!!! :) Thank you!
Your posts always leave me with such a full heart. Thank you for sharing yours. 💕
Thank you, Andrea!!!
I see a piece of kentsugi 💙
Yes yes yes!
I love that your daughter has been editing her books – I wholeheartedly agree with all her decisions on what to omit.
I’m currently reading your book in the evenings and really enjoying your writing.
Florence x
Thank you so much, Florence! (I agree on such omissions as well!) :)
“This morning, she takes a pen to her Junie B. Jones chapter, strikes out words like stupid, crybaby, hate. Inappropriate, she mutters, cross-legged with a Sharpie cap in her teeth.
I tell her she’d make an excellent editor someday, but she wants to be a “biological mother” married to a cowboy.
I don’t tell her she can be both.” this. is. EVERYTHING.
thank you sweet sally. :)
I love this.
thank you, sylvia!
LOL at the visual of Bee editing her Junie B. Jones book…..so glad it was hers and not a library book! She will be very busy in the years ahead if she gets into some of the series like Dogman, Wimpy Kid and Captain Underpants!
Ha – I’ll give her a good head’s up. ;)
My little guy said “Pum Pum” for very special things! We never knew what it meant exactly, but we knew it was good! And occassionally, when something is really good, we still all turn to each other and say “Pum Pum!” in unison. 😊
I couldn’t love that more!!!!!!!!