Time Bound

Today, for Father’s Day the 11-year-old composed a most delicious breakfast of eggs and toast with a side of ham. And quite a good meal it was. He not only planned and prepared the meal, but also plated and served. Presentation IS everything.

I had a drink with a friend on Friday who shared some photos of her beloveds from an professional photo shoot. She wanted to capture in film the moments that she sees as a mom. No phony canned expressions of a traditional portrait. The pics were great–her babes are 9 and 6.

I got to thinking about the pics we have of the kids at different ages. Now that the 14-year-old is man-sized, seeing pictures of him as a 3rd grader doesn’t connect with his current being. We were listening to a recording of him from two summers ago–from before he started singing at a register so low that only dogs can hear. The voice on the recording didn’t belong to my son.

Then I started thinking of my own mom. In her head I am still in high-school. She talks about things that I “like” that I haven’t actually liked in say, oh, 20 years?

You can’t freeze time. You can remember the past. But what and who we were, isn’t what and who we are. I used to hold both of the 14-year-old’s feet in my one hand. I can’t get my hands around one of his size 13 sneakers. I used to poke the 11-year-old in his squishy, baby belly and receive the most beautiful tinkles and bubbles of his baby giggles. Now, his belly laughs come from deeper in his belly–some day soon to come from a lower octave.

Capturing a moment or an afternoon in film can help to loose up a memory at a later time. Reconciling that moment to the person, though, gets harder and harder.

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