Right on the other side of this planter with this DIY obelisk, there’s a driveway.
It curves around through the middle of our yard.
On one side there’s a white picket fence with a garden gate and a concrete paver patio and enough seating for a dozen or more smores eaters.
On the other side is the back of the house with four sidewalks that lead up to a fountain in the middle and the edge of the street curb where I fell in love with my husband.
The other day I walked through the yard on my way to this gate.
And mid-walk I discovered something.
Something I had forgotten about.
Something that made me tear up and laugh out loud and sigh and stop in my tracks.
That looked like this.
Can you see it?
It’s a little hard to make out.
You’d never even notice it if you weren’t looking.
Three little letters.
Carved into wet cement with the tiniest of fingers.
Two sets of letters that read:
W T W.
W A W.
The initials are almost the same.
So close except for that middle letter.
Years ago when my mother and father first owned this house (the house we live in now) they had the driveway repaved.
Getting a new driveway was a momentous occasion.
All the grandchildren gathered around to watch the giant cement trucks and the cement coming out of the big chute into the forms built for the project.
And after the cement was poured and the driveway was still wet, two tiny four-year-old twins wrote their initials in the wet cement.
A moment in time.
A different era.
Two little blonde-haired blue-eyed four-year-old girls left their mark.
In four short weeks, they will be driving out of that same driveway—heading toward a future so bright they’ll have to wear shades. Grabbing life with both hands outstretched, ready to leave their mark once again on the world.
The irony is not lost on me.
Part of me wants to turn back the clock and take the hand of those four-year-olds and run together in the twilight of a summer evening and get ice cream and catch fireflies in the backyard.
Part of me wants to encourage and uplift and cheer them on to take risks and live life and reach for the stars.
Part of me wants to make sure they remember to brush their teeth and be kind to others and all the other life lessons I have spent 18 years pouring into them.
Part of me wants to laugh.
Part of me wants to cry.
And all the parts are mixed up together and jumbled up in a hot mess crying in the backyard looking at this.
A little slice of yesterday.
Cheering on tomorrow.
You got this Whitney and Westleigh Wood.
And your mama does too. 🙂