This has been a fairly contemplative week.
We have pondered our mortality.
And rum balls.
As a result, the Roo-girl has had a major yen to look at pictures. Pictures of her as a baby, pictures of me, pictures of her brothers.
She pestered me endlessly Monday night to go into the creepy, dark, spidery garage and dig out a box of photos from years ago.
We spread the photos all over my bed, and she gently picked through them.
There were baby pictures. Toddler photos. Elementary school shots.
Mostly of Drummer, Drama King and Z-man.
Some of me and an ex-husband. Some of my parents.
She pulled out some that she wanted for herself.
I know, I answered. There are other boxes.
"Can we look for them soon?"
Yes, of course.
"But where ARE the photos of me?"
Omigod, Roo-girl, your photos are ALL. OVER. THIS. ROOM.
I walked over the bookcase ... and the mantle ... and my nightstand.
And she burst out laughing.
"I AM your favorite," she crowed. "I just KNEW it!!!"
I laughed too.