The kids read to me while I knit, and they recite letters that came in the mail from friends over dinner, and compose responses after dessert. It's so very Jane Austen. Ivy "reads" her picture books and they are the longest stories of all because she describes- in great detail- every single thing on ev-ery page. But it makes a story and God bless my boys because they listen and laugh and don't mind her still.
"MOM, are we still going to Paris?" Ivy's voice always starts at maximum volume and then gets softer as I signal to her with my hands. We are in the car. I watch her from the rearview mirror.
"Ok how about in two days?" she decides and I think oh, if only.
But then thoughts of Paris have been farther from my mind lately I realize. Maybe it was the move. Maybe it is because I know soon we will live right by the ocean- something greater and more powerful than I can imagine and so it brings me back to size, and I feel safer, more alive knowing I'm right next to it.
Until then, we are all misplaced, in transit, kind of milling about for now.