April 28th, 2016
What is it about dust that interests you so? That it can fly? That it’s soft? That no one really knows exactly what it is (definitely some hair, though)?
I want to be the kind of mother who is always present. Sometimes I feel I have trouble focusing on what’s in front of me. I think: how awesome that we’re outside and it’s so nice and you’re trying to practice walking, but this moment would be even more awesome if we were also listening to the new Sam Beam album or if I was eating almonds and sipping white wine mixed with limenade a two ice cubes.
But here you are in front of me: with tiny ribs only as big as my pointer finger. Here you are so fascinated by the heater grate and dry leaves and the imperfections in the floor boards and dust. Here you are so immersed with what's in front of you. I want to remember that. I want to remember you always. I want to know you better than I know me.