The Way We Were/Are/Will Be

If you ask Zoey what her earliest memory is she will tell you it was when we lived in the city and there was an earthquake and I ran into her room and scooped her up, but this can't be true. Oh, I remember the earthquake, how Bryan and I looked at each other in the kitchen before one of us said "Big truck?" Then no, how we ran into Zoey's room and grabbed her from her crib beneath the large plate glass window. But she couldn't have remembered it. She was maybe 6 months old.

She used to say earthquick, not quake. And something for cereal, I can't remember. You got a feeling for a cavity, not a filling. Only the other day I finally corrected her--earthquake, too late realizing how quickly it's all falling away. Sometimes I look at her and see her making a decision because something must be done and things don't just magically happen anymore. I want to gobble her up, make it stop, everything moving too fast.

Far as I can tell there is one more word left: rememberies, the last of her toddler pronunciation. Apparently we talk about making memories a lot around here because she has always said this, rememberies or making a remembery. When she says it I think of tiny berries, for some reason, cramming them in with the joyful desperation of watching her grow up something tangible, how it all seems to be sliding from my mouth, the juice running down my chin, how most times I am a mess.

I decided that I am never going to correct her on this one: remembery.