Filled with sea shells, a tiny piece of drift wood, a palmetto rose, and other beach finds.
A jar from your first summer, your first trip to the sea. A jar from the following summer as well.
Helping me fill a shelf with my own collection; a sand dollar, some star fish, pieces of blue and green sea glass, and you see your treasures.
I follow you back to your room and the contents spill to the wood planks and you immediately begin inventory.
You slide an open shell to me. You choose one yourself. Then a mini conch is placed in the middle.
And there we were, sharing giggles over a cup of coffee.
I'm handed a new shell. A larger one, with a teeny tiny shell inside it's scoop.
'Shhhhhh! The baby is sleeping.'
And just like that, we're rocking our babies in ocean carved cradles.
You played with those shells all morning. Arranging, rearranging. Stacking, lining. Imagining, pretending.
I happily joined in when an invitation was extended.
Otherwise, sitting cross-legged on your floor, I'm fully content just watching. Watching you find such joy in the simple.
I can't think of a better way to spend my morning.
All my love baby girl.