Go Fish

Can you find the half-hidden goldfish cracker in this patch of autumn leaves? It fell from my son’s over-filled hand on a hike recently, so I gave it a lift up onto a leaf.  Sometimes I imagine what the map of my life as a parent would look like if were defined only by bits of food left behind: goldfish, raisins, drips of yogurt or milk. I like to draw this kind of life-phase map because it ties important objects and places to a specific time. Like those maps of the expanding Holy Roman Empire in a high school history book. In my life with my children, who are now almost 6 and 3 1/2 years old, I’ve witnessed the way specific activities and places are connected for a time, then forgotten. For a few months, the cabinet where the stereo resides will become their dance corner, the window in the dining room their favorite perch for watching the neighbor’s cat strut through the yard. On our snack map, the driveway would be at the center. Alongside our station wagon where my kids disembark from their carseats, cracker crumbs tumble down their legs and disappear into the gravel. I like to think I’ll remember this tiny detail of our days, along with countless others. But I worry I won’t.  If I map the memories on paper, I can let them go in life. Catch and release.