I'm standing at the counter of my childhood home. As a 1-year-old I grabbed a knife on the sharp edge and almost cut my fingers off at this counter. As a preschooler I hid underneath the dining room table and ate butter straight from the carton with a measuring spoon. In this kitchen – albeit with avocado green appliances – I climbed to the top of the refrigerator because that's where the cookies were, learned to cook, had countless conversations with my mother, and generally lived life.
It's nice to be home!
When we come back to Arizona, we enjoy seeing our immediate families and our extended "family" - the network of friends we grew up with. Thus far we have participated in several feeding frenzies – my waistline is dwindling but my tummy is satisfied. We've been able to watch Mia stick black olives on every finger and wave them around. I'm pretty sure that at least twice this trip I've put Mikayla down for sleeping and when she wakes up she's grown both taller and heavier.
Yesterday we went to the high school where my brother-in-law is an art teacher and the girls were able to do handprints and footprints. It was awesome! We stripped the babies down to diapers and let them go at it (wish we'd stripped Mia & Maggie down as well, but Mia was too afraid the police would take her away for public indecency and Maggie thought she had a good argument).
All this to say, I'm currently feeling so full of happiness that my normal sarcastic, zippy dialogue is lacking. But I'm sure it won't be long until I have something to say again – like how charming it was to have Mikayla attack my shirt with hands covered in mashed up bananas and sweet potatoes, then not discover one lonely chunk until about 45 minutes later when it found it's cold and slimy way onto the spot where my neck meets my chin. It was a surprise.
Hope you don't have any surprises like that anytime soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment