“Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.”
― Pablo Neruda
olive | The Monarch butterfly on our front porch emerged from its chrysalis this week. We all gathered around watching it occasionally spread its wings to dry off. I had to keep reminding you to give it space and of course not to touch it–the hardest part for you all.
blythe | Your ballet recital was last weekend. We all piled in the car to watch your few minutes on the stage, floating and twirling, your eyes and mouth smiling wide. I love how your spirit comes alive in movement.
burke | You selected a book on baking from the library last week. You chose a recipe for banana creme pie, and we spent the afternoon rolling dough and browning butter for custard. It was both of our first times to bake a pie. Each Sunday morning, you and dad make pancakes for the rest of us. You love being in the kitchen, although not with a crowd.
liam | This week, I took you for a haircut, and suddenly, I couldn’t see the little boy any longer. You are almost as tall as I am.
