They're so cute when they're asleep...
...but Fairuza is the kind of mother who can and will wake up her children with a megaphone if they dare to sleep in on a school day.
The children grow quickly, it seems. Epiphany is already in school with her older sisters.
Time doesn't pass in the same way for everyone. As sims age, they compartmentalize their experiences, learning what has meaning and what doesn't.
The creak of a toybox lid. The color of curtains. The smell of dust on a rug.
The curve of the wings on a favorite toy.
The shadows connecting trees.
The turn of a page.
A conspiratorial whisper.
Forgetting the random memory pathways cut in childhood can be difficult. The adult brain doesn't commit much of that nonsense to storage. This moment is warm and happy, and Rock would remember it forever if he could, but it just fades into the blur.
Going to work again. Familiar sights.
Transportation. A whole family of bikes.
Homework scowls.
The stress of planning for a future.
Short legs that don't reach the floor.
Eyes that see a blank page, and wooden walls, and simultaneously, all the wonders she wants to draw.
Wind off the ocean causing the leaves to rustle.
Every once in a while, though, even the adult mind adds something to its collection.
"I bet the stew would be good with some of those peppers," Fairuza says absently. Her hand brushes against Rock's as she lifts it to flick some of her long hair out of her eyes.
The television chef's immaculate uniform, the feel of the hair strands on her fingers, and her husband's absent nod get filed away, remembered almost every time she thinks of food. It becomes part of her internal narrative, the snapshots that make up her life. Nobody else can see them. Perhaps nobody would want to. They will die with her.
A well-executed prank.
Parenting that becomes much easier when the other three are in school.
Soft snuggles.
New friends.
A smile with no context.
Learning to play alone in a big nursery.
A training regimen. Just like Dad's. Would he be proud?
A game of catch. A daughter with an infectious laugh.
Flowers everywhere.
A young romance.
Worrying about her figure.
A baby brother leaves the nursery behind.
For reasons Lynx cannot comprehend, he now has to share a room upstairs with his sister Epiphany.
"So this side of the room is mine," she says, gesturing to the one with the floral bedspread, the desk, the computer and the dresser, "and the other side is yours."
"No crossing to my side for any reason," she warns.
"B-but I need somewhere to put my clothes," Lynx complains.
Epiphany grins, drunk on perceived elder power. "Well that's just your problem now isn't it honey."
Lynx narrows his eyes. "I'm telling Dad."
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Etc.: Now it's warm enough to leave the house and I don't play sims as much! Never fear, readers who like more frequent updates... winter is right around the corner I'm sure.
