“…and I remember what I read some time before I learned I was pregnant, maybe it was in an artist friend’s letter to me, or in a book, that creating and sustaining a child’s life is a work of art and I believe that still, that my son is a living art form, endlessly fascinating, even his little sounds when he drinks from a cup, takes a bite of a cracker, as he holds a book and tells the story as he remembers it, or bats the ball into the night sky, that each moment feeds your art and is art, if you let it be.”
~ Barbara DeMarco-Barrett, pen on fire
For her eighth birthday, my daughter hosted an Ugly Party . . .
While I vacuumed, she got everybody ready:
I didn’t move a thing.
And when we both were through, we waited for her guests to arrive:
Eventually they came, they played, they ate, they played, they ripped open gifts, they played, and they ended the festivities with a popcorn dance party. I mean, who doesn’t love a popcorn dance party?
Then my daughter, full and happy, was on her own again with the pets and the Uglies, her sister home from college, her birthday gifts, her doting moms, and half a cake.
AND SO EIGHT BEGINS.