Last weekend, ten five year olds tumbled into my house for a rainbow-unicorn-shooting-star party. There was dancing, laughter, a tear or two, and- of course- cake. Bingo leaned over and blew out five candles in a single breath. And just like that, the kid who made me a parent turned five.
I didn’t write about four at all, because the sum total of a one year old and a four year old was twenty-four hours of exhaustion per day. I’m sorry now that I didn’t because, when I read back about three, there is such a huge leap between then and now, here and there, that I don’t know what I can write that will traverse that distance.
My father was 93 when he died on May 31st this year.
He would have turned 94 at the end of July, though the exact date was a matter of some debate in his family. When you live almost 94 years, some of the details get a little bit murky. He lived through, and fought in, a world war. He lived through the death of both of his parents and the deaths of his three brothers. He lived through nine decades. He lived through 94 renditions of every month, except June.
It’s that June that I keep coming back to, like a riddle with no answer or a sentence with no end. Continue reading →
It’s been another year, okay more than a year, since my last post. If you’re doing the math, you’ll know that means Bingo is now almostfive (the official age she gives anybody who asks) and Powerball is two.
As a second child, Powerball often gets overshadowed. His introductions to the various vices of childhood (television, refined sugar, communicable disease) come earlier, his milestones don’t always get written down, and instead of dictating our schedules he usually gets pulled along to the places that we’re going anyway.
He is also so loved. And despite the fact that I’m busy, tired, and didn’t remember the password for this blog, I wanted to take a moment to celebrate all that Powerball is at two. (I’d write it in his baby book, but he doesn’t have one.) Continue reading →