There are few pictures of myself that I've never seen before. Yesterday, my mom sent me this picture of my sister and I from the early 1980s. And I can't stop looking at it. It's everything. The wood paneled station wagon that I still covet to this day. The polka dot winnie the pooh pants I wish I remembered. The knowing too mature expression on my sister's face that I swear she was born with. The littleness of me that reminds of my own sweet boys. We're sitting on a log that was in the field next to my grandparents' house. That field was our virtual playground and that log was the barrier to the parking lot for the restaurant next door. I do remember sitting on that log, running in that field, making dandelion necklaces in that field, giggling uncontrollably with my aunts and uncles in that field. I remember the stories of that field. The metal pipe on the other side of it where my Dad hit his knee playing hockey and probably broke it, but never went to the doctor. That knee bothers him till this day. We were just little girls in that picture; listening to our mom, wearing our hats, sitting for a picture. Here I am now with my own boys; hoping they listen to me, telling them to wear their hats, sit for a picture. Sometimes a picture can tell too many words or sometimes you still don't have all the words to understand the pictures of your past. Either way, I'll keep looking at this picture of those scrappy little girls with matching cheeks and their whole lives ahead of them and smile.