It's been a long time since I spent this much time at home. Probably not since high school. Right now Dad is in the basement. He has a room down there where he stores his hunting equipment (which he hasn't used in years) and a desk where he puts together lessons for the Bible class he teaches. My Mom has been on a mission to give Jane lots of tummy time because, "She spends too much time like a sack of potatoes in the froggy, her arms are likeflippers." It's hilarious. Jane snorts and squeals like an angry little pig.
I've never been so worried or physically felt so bad, but at the same time there's so much peace in this house I grew up in. I look out at the mountains and the sun shines through the green trees and I remember feeling like it was a big tree house.
I've been remembering things I'd forgotten from childhood. There's evidence of it everywhere, from the booger wall in Rachel's room to the height chart marked in pencil in the dining room. I'd forgotten. It's been along time since I slowed down and had time to just think and remember.
I took these pictures a few weeks ago. This was my favorite doll growing up. I named her Vivienne (homage to Vivien Leigh I suppose). Red hair was the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I hated my brown hair. I used to think Anne Shirley was nuts.
But I've been remembering these things. My childhood longing for red hair. The hole in the window upstairs where Rachel hurled a sock full of pennies at Rebecca's head and broke just one layer of glass. The time Rebecca hid behind our great-grandmother's casket and proceeded to poop her pants at the funeral. The way Rachel ordered at restraunts, eyeing the waiter through her round Harry Potter style glasses and reiterating, "I want cold, white milk." The way summers used to be still and long when the locusts called from the forest.
I'm still waiting to find out what is wrong, but I'm doing it in the happiest place possible.