June 10

Same costume, different girls. 1991 and 2022.

Abby spent yesterday afternoon trying on all of her old dance costumes. (Including one she wore when she was five. FIVE.)

Then today, she lugged the box of my old costumes up from the garage and tried on some of those, including this little red number that I wore for a jazz routine in 1991 when I was 13. (I didn't just remember that. I had to look at the back of the picture, which also told me that the routine was called "New York, New York." Thank you, 13-year old me, for being so detail-oriented!) 

I gave her my old dance photo album-slash-scrapbook to look at and for funsies, she re-created some of my original poses. And she had a great time doing it. I know because she said so, and because her ebullience over the experience --both re-living her own recital memories and sliding into the remnants of mine-- spilled over in enthusiastic exclamations of "I am having SO much fun."

It's a blessing to see that kind of joyfulness in my girl. So for that, I am grateful.