The Place: Mall of America, Minneapolis Minnesota. Home to a shopping wonderland of sights, sounds, and The Rainforest Cafe. The Time: Fall of 2008. Strolling along, my husband shoves me and the children into the path of a Caricature Artist who is just finishing up an impressive sketched rendering of two incredibly giggly girls dressed in every color under the rainbow, with enough piercings to make any piece of swiss cheese jealous.
I roll my eyes and make feeble attempts of protest. But once my husband gets an idea in his head, that’s the end of that.
“You too then!” I whine, as I grab at the tail of his shirt. But, being the kind of guy that reads the fine print, he pointed to the little sign above the stand: Up to FOUR posers only.
So our Party of Five minus one sat, even 2-year old Littlest. This portrait hangs in our office, and many times as I venture in to check voice mail, or grab a pen, my eye finds it. And I can’t help but smile, and remember that day. The stroller that I pushed Littlest in hibernates in the garage, waiting for the day that I will finally just give up my fantasy life of needing it again, and put it out to pasture. Neither one of my older children clutched cell phones at the time of this sketch, and enjoyed only platonic Jack and Jill friendships with the opposite sex.
Indeed, much has changed, and some things not at all since this portrait’s arrival to the wall of our home. It makes me teary on certain days, and strangely giddy on others. But one thing it always leaves me pondering is this:
Are my teeth really that BIG?