The babies and I cross paths with a man on our evening stroll. He can be found either throwing a metal cage beneath a no crabbing sign, or biking along the boardwalk. Always preaching to the heavens. Last week, he broke from his usual course. As I cheered Winnie down the slide, he walked through the sand to hand me this shell. He explained that he ate the oyster, but that the remnant was for my little girl. The lavender color was his childhood favorite, and since it matched her winter coat, he thought she would like it. I thanked him for his thoughtfulness, and assured him that my toddler shares his love of purple.

One of my great hopes for our children is that they see this man. Really see him. That they acknowledge their apparent differences while noting that he too is beautifully created in the image of God.

We gave thanks, and offered a local spread of Springfield ham, Chesapeake crab cakes, and a Virginia Peanut Pie. Winnie’s plate brimmed with cranberry pear chutney. “Winnie. Like. Red.”

All four of us were on the move before the big meal.

Grandma accompanied our simple days for a portion of this week. She brightened Montessori pick up, jaunts to the marsh and the sea, puzzles and books at home, and was game to rise early for a weekend 8k up and down, and up down the only hill our city possesses. We miss her already.

“If there is valor, there is hope.” Publius Cornelius Tacitus

Painting has become a bit more of a vocal exercise now that she can identify the colors of the rainbow.  

Winnie caught the bug. Following the thrill of the Tadpole Trot, she now cheers for everything that runs: her dad, her mom, her own tiny shoes, a neighbor’s shaggy dog, and now Harry Boy. She helps him with his form and chants “run Harry, RUN.”