to my daughter
June 7, 2016 § 3 Comments
Some days I want to gather memories into one of the many eclectic containers that litter corners of your room, your personality like bits of confetti that stick to my days making everything more interesting for your company. Little moments that cannot be strung together but only collected into a cacophony of sentiment.
Over the past week I have held turn of phrases over, delighting in fragments of humor and gentler expressions of fiery certainty. The way you cocked an eyebrow when I suggested a chore to demonstrate responsibility; the tilt of your chin as you rebutted with a demur, “we both know that won’t last.”
Or maybe I could capture the way you spontaneously unearthed painting supplies to capture a movie because you couldn’t quite sit still and touching paint to paper helped you fall further into the story line; cloaking yourself in colors as the sound lead your hand to create.
There’s catching you long past bedtime cleaning your room by balancing everything precariously from the tip of your walking stick and the way you bundled your stuffed animals curiously into a noose. I understand the moment is temporary and that the structure of your organization cannot be decoded, but there is a simple gesture of appreciation in the illusion of order.
Most definitely I would gather your language. Early speech struggles still interrupt eloquent exclamations and I may never outgrow the way you structure what everyone else sees from a perspective just askew enough that we still piece together your meaning first by shades of colorful interpretation. I must write these before they are lost to poor memory.
There was a moment only last week when you caught a music video for an artist you like and you mused over an inner turmoil when the visual presented contradicted the strength you had inferred in her talent; pieces of overly sexualized imagery that felt disjointed invited an impromptu conversation on objectification and body image.
I wonder what color your passion for individuality might inspire. Consistently inconsolable over the injustice of “girl colors” you intentionally choose objects in shades that challenge generic assumptions of femininity for creativity. Gladiator sandals to pair with your animal print blanket shaped into a toga and held by a turquoise belt and anchored by a backwards baseball cap to hide a nest of tangles.
These moments only hint at larger truths; you are profoundly insightful and playfully uninhibited, cautiously aware and tenderly curious. Flecks of spirit are ever present pieces of self; prisms that catch the light as you shape your lines of thought.
Beautiful fragments that leaving me scurrying to remember fleeting minutes of days that pass too quickly into years.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 
They just grow too fast Marie….or do they? 😀
Time is such a fickle companion, constantly folding in on itself or stretching past a reasonable measure.
So true…and all bundled up inside our expectations 🙂