I sat in the backseat, wearing pink OshKosh overalls and enjoying my own little world. My parents occasionally looked in the rearview mirror as I gazed through the frame of the windshield and the back of their heads, easily singing Baby Beluga with Raffi,* lost in my musings.
It’s a familiar view, even twenty years later, sitting in the backseat of a newer car with the same perspective, the same parents, the same connections (just no Raffi).
Road tripping with the family to Salt Lake City, a few months ago, I sat in the backseat of the car and felt safe, young, and free. On this trip I was knitting a baby blanket for my friend, The Ten Thousand Hour Mama, and her approaching baby. The blanket is a mix of extra yarns used for other projects: baby hats for other friends in Maui and Oregon; yarn purchased in Paris and Spain; extra threads from potholders my grandmother knitted for me that I now use in Kansas. It all weaves into one blanket, and one moment.
When I finish the blanket (any day now, right?), my friend’s beautiful baby may be wrapped up in it in the backseat of their car, feeling safe and young and free. She may feel connected to everyone and everything. She may even be singing to Raffi.
*I just learned Raffi is an Egyptian-born Canadian. That’s pretty cool.