I've been really conscious about making memories, lately. Stepping outside a moment, briefly, and capturing those feelings and people and places. I'm not sure why.
This weekend, J and I flew south to see our families for a bit—most importantly, to celebrate his grandmother's 90th birthday! At her birthday party, there were four generations, reaching from her to the two-year-old red-headed rascal. (There seems to be at least one red-headed in each generation, actually.)
There was an excellent scene in the afternoon where her beautiful birthday cake was paraded out, we sang, and she blew out the candles. Then, aforementioned red-headed rascal stuck his adorable little hand into the frosting—then offered it to GG for a taste, which she laughingly obliged. What a sweet, sweet moment. It's one of those little things that I think I'll remember about this family, always.
It's small things like this—along with Sunday morning cups of coffee and snuggles with pups and late-night politics discussions and third glasses of wine—that I catalog so carefully, and recall so joyfully when we're months and miles apart.