My heart aches for the time when I'm just looking back on these posts. When he's a teenager and talking about kissing Tatum on the mouth in an entirely different way (and perhaps not even to me). When he's a man and talking about how cold-brewed coffee imparts the truest flavor. When he's a writer and explaining how important his community of fellow artists. Or when he's an engineer and asking me about his grandfather's greatest inventions.
Of course I want this now to last forever. Five-year-old Penn, with his enthusiasm for skiing and aptitude for games that are slightly beyond him (Fluxx, or chess). Who is learning to climb trees and collect pine-pitch to help start the camp-fires of our future. Who is pedaling furiously and leaning into his training wheels and arguing fiercely about wearing crocs instead of sensible protective shoes. Who is--"Mommy, look! Come quickly!" He has spilled soap on the concrete out back. A cluster of bubbles is moving slowly east. "It's a flower." And it is. xox