New Year’s Day. The poinsettias had started to wilt. I whisked the milk and egg while he stirred flour in a bowl. We took turns steering the little one away from the stairs. Butter in the pan, then batter. Blueberries dropped in one, bananas in the other. I set the table with syrup and jam, more butter, and glasses of milk. The grandfather clock kept quiet, it was usually his job to wind it when we arrived. He saw snow, we didn’t. After breakfast, L washed up and I dressed the little one to go outside. We kicked the soccer ball around on the lawn and when C tired of it, he climbed the front steps a dozen times before they played in a small dirt patch and we went inside to warm our hands.
I’m giving this yearlong project a spin. Undoubtedly, I will fall and pick up again. Knowing this makes it easier. Still, I plan to show up to record a short photo and story of my day. You’re welcome to join me. I’d love it really. We can give each other high fives and geek out with a hashtag (#ayearofus), not because everyone is doing it, but because we’re doing it, together. Showing up every damn day to make this creative habit real.