Favorite Frames: Ponytails

I remember this feeling as a daughter and now I’m lucky enough to know it as a mother. I’d give anything to have tangible proof of this memory from my childhood, to be able to hold a picture in my hand of my mom brushing the flyaways from my face as she pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail. An act that happened time and time again, until it didn’t anymore. That’s what happens though, isn’t it? The little things are just little things, until we move on from them, and realize they really were the big things all along.