The table my grandfather made has two tiny ladderback chairs stained to match, where my sister and I used to share apple juice and handwritten crayon menus and giggly little girl secrets. And this morning, they sat there, my daughters…one on each side, legs sticking straight out in all their toddler chubbiness, feet nowhere near the floor. The bright plastic tea cups kept turning over as they stirred vigorously with their plastic spoons. “Uh-oh,” they said in unison, over and over again. “Uh-oh, mah bup.” Then giggles.
How they got this big so quickly I’ll never understand. All the long days of diapers and long nights of feedings have led to this, two babies-turned-tiny-sisters sharing tea at a table where another pair of sisters once sat. As I watch their dimpled hands awkwardly stack cups on saucers, I’m delighted. For a second, I consider going to get my camera, but I can’t tear myself away. I stay, and I watch, and I drink in the moment…the kind of moment that becomes a forever kind of memory even though I’ve no picture to show for it.
This post is part of Five-Minute Friday, a kind of free-writing party hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker at her blog, Tales from a Gypsy Mama. The challenge is write for five minutes without backtracking or overthinking, “the way we used to finger paint, for joy in the process,” as Lisa-Jo says. Check the link below to see what some other writers had to say this week.