Beach Bum.

When I was in about fourth or fifth grade, I read a book about a time traveling brother and sister. I don't remember the details of how they discovered the time travel technique, but it involved staring at a photograph and eventually they were back in the 1950s, when their parents were young.

Ever since reading (and re-reading) that book, I would desperately try to achieve time travel via photograph. Needless to say, that it doesn't work. I wish it did though, I really wish it did.

Joanna Tursi Orfeo, my maternal great grandmother.

Wouldn't you love to sit on the beach with this lady? I mean really! Fully clothed, shoes laced, and not a care in the world. I never met her, but I love her. I think she's the genetic donor of my spontaneity. Ha! I'm so funny.

Life.

I've come to realize that little things make me happy: a tablecloth on the kitchen table, using my little juice glasses for orange juice, a loaf of homemade bread, a bowl with cherries on and in it, blueberries in my fridge, and seeing my daughter interact with others, watching her individuality bloom.

As a mother, I am constantly on the look out for her safety and well-being, while both correcting her when she misbehaves, and guiding her with proper social skills. (those who know me can go ahead and laugh and the last thing.) Sometimes (all the time) it's difficult to let her be her own person. You have to decide if you're correcting a misguided behavior or hindering her personality. When I send her to her room for not listening and get frustrated with her for saying, "NO!" to me, I try to remember that she's an individual. She's unique. And seriously, wouldn't it bug the hell out of me if some one constantly told me when, where, and what to do? Yes, it would. I know it would because I can vividly remember being annoyed with my parents for this. The circle of life, I suppose.