Freeze Frame

What parent doesn't want to fix time, at one point or another, to keep their child just the way he is?  There are so many things I want to remember about both of my children, still images and moving pictures with their accompanying soundtracks, that I want to freeze forever.

The way he stops what he's doing and climbs on top of her to give her a kiss, and the "mwah" sound he makes as he does it.  The way her face lights up when she feels his lips on her forehead.

The way she spreads beauty like stars distribute light, a spectral semblance of heaven on earth.  The way that, while she grows small instead of big, she gives herself away like flowers diffuse scent.  The way, when I look into her inkwell eyes, it’s like the whole world is looking back at me. The way her hand, so little, touches so deep.

The way her smile erupts at the sound of his voice, and the way he searches for her when she's not here.

The way he says "pubs" (please) for crackers and music and outside, pointed yet polite.  The way he tugs my hair loose from a ponytail in order to twirl strands between his fingers or wring pieces through his teeth.  The way he pats my shoulder when I kneel, and how it feels as he he holds on there for balance when he slides his feet into shoes.  The way daredevilry shines through his dancing eyes.

These things may not be around long enough to beat a well worn path through my mind, and I worry they'll soon blow away like dandelion seeds, out of my grasp and into oblivion.  So I hang them here, a place I can come back to, sort of, and remember. 

JEB