Our house is littered with notes. Pieces of paper of all sizes taped and tacked and tucked everywhere. Things they want to remember. Projects they've begun. Lists. Stats. Names. Half-finished letters. Declarations.
I step on paper, every table is cluttered with paper, and I look in the mirror and see paper. But just as I begn to shout, "Please stop taping your name to the bathroom mirror!" I (try to) remember:
Soon her "E's" will have just three legs. Soon every "S" will be turned the right way. Soon his cursive will look like that of an adult. Soon "fancy letters" will become more rare. Soon all that fabulous phonetic spelling will be changed.
And suddenly, these things that threatened to clutter my house and my head just moments earlier, have transformed into precious artifacts and sweet reminders from these days.
