This is the end of my fourth summer with Wee One. She’s growing up. Just like everyone promised, it happened too fast and did not come soon enough.
A memory I wish to save about putting Wee One to bed on night.
The tag line on this blog is “I write to stop time,” and as I get older, I find I want to stop time more and more. (Actually, I don’t know if that’s true. There were moments I loved and wanted to hold onto when I was younger. Of course, I destroyed all my journals from before the accident and those are the memories I don’t have.)
I have to begin letting go.
Right now, Wee One is in a phase when she tells me, “You need me!” which means, “I need you,” or “I want you here with me.”
I used to say that to my mom. I would say, “I wanna hold you.”
One day while E.C. was planning a small baby caper
She felt something odd in her diaper di diaper.
This past summer, I signed Wee One up for swimming lessons. Just six weeks at the community center, I wanted her to learn some respect for the water when she’s around it.
It was the first time she’d taken a formal-ish “class,” and I had some concerns. And other thoughts. Here’s a sampling of my second week’s thoughts:
People of my high school graduating class, particularly theater nerds like me and especially my friends, remember well the 1996 musical Rent.
The Facebook post read, “By any chance, did anyone cut my daughter’s bangs?” And thus opens the one case I was never able to solve.