Stories

There's not much of a privacy fence around Celia’s story, although we do try to avoid details that make the typical mommy memoir look like a discourse on a day at the beach.  I struggle some with the mix of real and embellished, a complicated ratio.  I admittedly remember big -- blurring lines, twisting truths, downplaying the rest.
She is not a vertical participant in the ongoings of our home, but she's here, part of what makes our home ours, our story shared.  And I write about the ongoings anyway, a task that checks my emotions and focuses my thoughts.  A way to, more than anything, magnify mirth.  
Most children move out of the sphere of their parent's story and into their own.  I'm not sure we ever had a story until she let us into hers.

JEB