I am from homemade Playdoh in blue and green, from the endless possibilities of Brio trains, and multi-coloured afghans hand knit with love.
I am from beach houses, suburban houses, and the house of many trees, each one a home complete with dogs and dance recitals.
I am from my mother’s mountain, a freshwater spring spilling on to the sand, and a John Denver soundtrack on long drives between the two.
I am from summers at the pool and advent calendars at Christmas, from Rileys and Birds and the traits of the Nelsons.
I am from Calvin and Hobbes quoted at the dinner table and laughing so hard milk comes out your nose.
From you have your mother’s eyes and I’m going to drive with my eyes closed so tell me if we’re going to hit something.
I am from a belief system that knows kids and clothes can be washed and that little girls are more valuable than family treasures accidentally broken.
I’m from a hospital nestled in the foothills, tourtière on Christmas Eve and school lunches that were the envy of classmates, they who wore kilts and blazers and heard pull your socks up and dangly earrings aren’t allowed. (I wore them anyway.)
From boats and salt water oceans, a mother’s hand warm from her tea, and the man who summoned emergency personnel with a practical joke, prompting a fondly-recalled story in the newspaper 25 years later.
I am from fat, brown photo albums, artwork and photos above computers and a do-anything-for-you kind of love reflected in a lifetime of knowing what it is to have a family.
The beach house where the spring water flowed into the ocean. (That's me on the left. The 4th sibling came later.)
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With thanks to Mama Kat for the prompt using this template based on this original work, which I’d seen before but had not yet been inspired to try.
And with sincere apologies to my mother if I’ve made her cry (again).
