Time. It keeps moving forward. From our perspective, in the present looking forward, time appears as an infinitely expanding tree of potential. But as we move forward, making choices, choices being made around us, the infinite quickly becomes pared down to a very finite path, perhaps not too unlike Gabriel’s Horn. A path, with an attribute unlike any other vector we know in our reality – it only moves forward. And it moves at a brutally fast pace, it seems.

Nearly a month ago was Linnaea’s birthday. My parents and sister were on hand for the event. We have pictures. Trip is six months old, as of a couple weeks ago, and now has teeth. We have pictures of those too. What we haven’t had, however, is the proverbial time to post them here. We’ll see what we can do about that. But today’s lesson is not one about pictures and busy schedules and file transfer protocols. It’s about time, and its unyielding forward continuance.

Sunday morning we all wound up oversleeping. Well, perhaps that is the wrong term – ‘over’ does not accurately describe the amount of sleep had by at least the parental units of our household. A more accurate, if lengthy, statement would be that in the process of getting Trip back to sleep after a too early morning feeding, I fell asleep with him in the glider in his room, Mater – exhausted – slept through my alarm, and Linnaea, whose timely rousting is dependent on those of us who have alarm clocks, was left to wake on her own. Mater reportedly awoke to the distraught petitions of her daughter over the monitor, pleading with the Kit-Kat clock on her wall. “Oh no, Little Hand! Please go back! Please go back to the nine! We have to go to church. Please go back to the nine, Little Hand!”

Please go back, indeed.