Family

We couldn’t find her sneakers anywhere. They weren’t in the travel bag, under the bench in the mudroom, in either car,  at friends’ houses, in the closet or under the bed. After two days, we gave up and bought a new pair sneakers.

As a child, I looked forward to the infrequent family outings that involved a restaurant. As the eldest of three, it gave me a chance to strut my stuff in front of my sisters: I was allowed to order without much interference, so it was a rare opportunity to have a cheeseburger, fries and the most chocolate item available for dessert. 

It’s been four years since my Dad died.

It was January and there were several inches of fresh snow on the ground and no shoveled path to the car. The temperature in the teens. I had an errand to run with a child who INSISTED on going barefoot.  The following brief conversation between a seriously sleep deprived post-call parent and an articulate three year old. 

“Do you want to put your shoes on yourself, or do you want help?”

"I don't NEED to wear shoes. My feet aren't cold."

"They will be. It's cold out."

"My feet aren't cold."

"Put your shoes on."

"No."

"Fine."

It’s Father’s Day. My Dad is gone, but not his impact. 

A wonderful thing, imagination, with the vast possibilities it allows. 

Nana Cindy, Bumpa Pooh and (Princess) Phoebe were enjoying a wonderful pretend picnic in her bedroom. Phoebe was describing in sometimes startling detail the preparations for the picnic when she started pantomiming, pouring a liquid on her hands, rubbing her palms together, and then applying it to her doll. We asked if she was using sunscreen, and she paused and looked thoughtful while she considered the question.

“No,” she said. “Moonscreen.”