I struggle to find small moments.

My kids, now 18 and 20, ask me to tell them a story about when they were little, and if it weren't for home videos and the excellent photo albums my husband has created, I wouldn't be able to separate out the blur and crystalize a small moment for them. That time you were a tiny one-year old Hershey bar for Halloween. How much you loved dancing around in the kitchen to our favorite kids musician, Justin Roberts. Picking flowers instead of playing soccer (yes, we actually have this documented!).

So finding small moments for a month will stretch new muscles for me.

Although I've Sliced several times before, there is something powerful about documenting March 2021, which marks a year of pandemic living. I want to conjure up the some of the highs and lows of the past 12 months, because we've taken far fewer videos and photos to prompt my memory. I want my own words to live here, because this year has not only been the pandemic, but a year of leaning into racial equity work. Of facing mental health challenges. Of building new relationships and letting others go. These stories all matter. I don't want to lose them, and writing is the powerful tool that will push me to find the right words to whisper-sing-reflect-scream about my own life. 

This morning, I wake up a few minutes before my 6:20 alarm, knowing my 6:30 calendar invite says "Slice". I've learned that if I spend a few minutes stretching in bed, my body can face the day more easily, so I slowly roll my ankles a few times, bend my knees, feel my back muscles tighten and flex. I reach for my phone and glasses, always in tandem these days, and slide off the alarm. I don't kiss the dog or my husband, who are both still sleeping, but slip out of bed and down the stairs; grab my laptop and move to the couch; turn on the light and open the computer and...

It's time to Slice.