We’re moving. There is stuff all over the floor of my office.
On the floor are some framed photos of my old family. Parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, even older ancestors.
There’s a wonderful hand-colored photo of my mother as a baby. It must be from 1943 or 1944.
Elliot pointed at it. At first, I thought he was pointing to his baby door jumper:
He loves to swing in that, and it was on the floor near the framed photo. He sometimes points at it as a way to ask me to mount it in the door and swing him. But as I went to pick it up, he shook his head.
So I picked up the photo of my mother thinking he couldn’t possibly want that… but he did. He took it from me and kissed the baby in the photo. He brought it to his lips and kissed. He only learned to kiss a couple of months ago. He kissed his grandmother. I was crying inside and about to cry outside.
Then I decided to swing him on the baby swing after all. He loved it as usual.
After a little while, I took him out and Karolina walked by. I told her about the kiss. I was holding Elliot in my arms this time, and bent down to get the photo once more. Elliot took it close to him and kissed my mother again. Karolina BEAMED while I cried.
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