Just Write {109}

November 4, 2013

I have vivid dreams, every night. I don’t know if they’re in black and white, like people say, about dreams and their muted tones. I don’t remember them like a movie, but a memory. I’m revisited by people from the long ago in my dreams. So often there are people I haven’t seen in years, interacting with me like we’re family. Their faces and voices and the stories we’re playing out are so vivid, I’d bank on neon colors over black and white.

I talked with a friend, standing out in the sun, about watching old videos of our kids. Those same kids played nearby, the boys knocking each other down and laughing and Elsie Jane watching and shriek-giggling and hopping around them. Outdoor toys were scattered all over the driveway. My friend said that she had forgotten exactly how her daughter was at age four, but they just watched a video and her little voice and face came back, vivid–the way she couldn’t say her R’s but kept saying that she was four. Or fow.

That girl on the screen slipped through time and fingers like water. She can say four now, and she isn’t as bouncy.

I wondered if the people my children are right now will come back to me in dreams one day, after they’ve grown even more. Will we live out stories from our past together, behind my eyelids, or will my subconscious make up new adventures with those smaller versions of my family? I hope so. I hope they come back to visit me because they’re slipping. I look forward to what dreams they will live and I will love every stage, but sometimes I already miss them. They are neon walking toward sepia walking toward black and white.

My friend and I stood, hand on hips or arms crossed and watched our children, and corrected them when they were about to inflict each other with something beyond bruises. The sun had me squinting hard and I kept having to stop talking to go keep Elsie from falling off a skateboard. We were connecting and laughing together, talking while our kids ran in circles. There was a chill in the breeze, just a little, and my still flip-flopped feet were baring my terrible un-pedicured toenails. We stayed like that until it was time for dinner and it’s so vivid now, and here to keep.

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This is the 108th installment of Just Write, an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments. {Please see the details here.} I would love to read your freely written words so join me and link up below. You can add the URL of your post at any time. Just be sure it’s a link to your Just Write post, not to your main page, and please don’t link to posts that are not freely written in the spirit of capturing moments–you know, don’t link to how-to posts, lists or sponsored posts. Also, please link back to this post in yours so people know where to go if they’d like to join in.

Please take a moment to visit someone else who has linked up! It’s a really good way to meet new writers and get inspired by the meaning behind their moments. Word? Thank you!



Hey there! I’m over at Mamalode today, which is totally exciting. I wrote about the way it feels when I hear “all they need is love”. I don’t know, I think my children need more.

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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }

Sarah @ Toddler Summer November 4, 2013 at 10:06 pm

I too often wonder how I’ll be able to hold onto these moments and have them revisit when the people standing in front of me are not their baby selves anymore. I think that’s why I write all of this down. My compulsion to freeze time with words because I haven’t found any other way yet…

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Jayna @ Yankee Drawl November 4, 2013 at 10:45 pm

I find myself watching the littlest one and all of a sudden, a fantastic glimpse of one of the others at that age will come along and smack me with vivid realness. I know that decades from now, these glimpses will be nothing but short wisps that are gone before I can replay them over and over enough, so hanging on to them now seems so important.

Sarah, I have to agree that writing the moments down just seems like the natural way to catch our memories somewhere permanent. The hope that mere words can bring back the voices, feelings, sights and smells is more than enough encouragement to turn those small bits and pieces into one nice, long history.
Jayna @ Yankee Drawl recently posted..just write {Changes}

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Miranda November 5, 2013 at 7:01 am

There are some moments, both good and bad, that are inexplicably frozen in my mind in those neon colors you just described. But there are so many more that have faded. This is why we write, right?
Miranda recently posted..Hello, Old Sport

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Ami November 5, 2013 at 8:44 am

This is why I love your Just Write opportunities: so I can preserve little snap shot moments that would normally be lost. These little snippets are sometimes the most important to hold on to.
Ami recently posted..The something great just ended blues.

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Stacey November 5, 2013 at 1:20 pm

Their littleness is something I hope I never forget. My oldest towers above me, but I can still see him when he was small, dragging his little backpack everywhere so his sister didn’t touch his “treasures”. They grow up so fast.
Stacey recently posted..Ten

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Roxanne November 5, 2013 at 2:00 pm

My son is older than the children of my friends. When I see them reaching milestones or notice something different in their behavior, I try to remember what my son was like at that age. I forget a lot. I rely on photographs and short videos and the stories other people share with me. And my blog. And those little prompts can usually do well to remind me what he was like when he was a little one.
Roxanne recently posted..NaNoWriMo!

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Elaine A. November 8, 2013 at 12:25 am

As someone who loves photography, I love your neon to sepia to black and white imagery and I totally get it. :)
Elaine A. recently posted..Listen To Your Mother 2014!

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