Everyone is maybe sick of the topic lately. But I can’t get enough of it. Clichés and all. Like my Interviewee that pointed out that by the time your kids are teens, that cake is baked.

I very much feel that way while knowing my kind heart is a place my kids will ask to land in again and again.

It’s hard to keep this kind heart open.

But if I plop myself into images: I can do it.

The way I stayed up reading the night before I went into labor, re-reading a favorite Laurie Colwin book specifically because characters in the book become parents.

The way Kk in her blue and green striped onesie rolled herself across the floor to get where she needed to go: there’s never been a way to stop the independence from unrolling.

The door slams: even that breaks my heart open. I understand the language of waking early. Even if you’re waking early for song singing: waking takes work.

Images lift me into joy: a cormorant flying over the bridge this morning. The underbellies of the clouds tinged pick. The sun: bright & lifting us into our days.

Images from memory and today help keep my heart open. I may be sad that teens are baked cakes. But cake is nice. I like it. I’ll enjoy being with them whenever I can. And when it feels unbearable: that’s when I see that baby dressed in stripes rolling across our living room floor. Once independence has been reached: I’ll continue to try to make of myself a soft place to land.