Cute name, right? People often ask how we came up with the name for our childrens’ clothing store, but I am more interested in explaining the place it holds in my heart.

I should first inform you that I have three kids, ages nine, seven, and five. Right now I am looking at label written by my seven year old, titled “Papor” attached to a basket, right next to another basket titled “aRt Supplies”. My life is shaped by my children in ways that often escape my awareness. However, there are moments when —like magic— I become so utterly confused and in awe of what I am experiencing that I am shaken out of my daily routine. While parenting, I am confronted with the notion that linear time does not exist in the mind.

My nine-year-old scours the house for something to bring to class for sharing time (“We are going to be late!” is the drumbeat in my head) I can’t help thinking, “Why did he wait til the last minute to find something?” He is agitated. Then he is on the verge of tears. Soon he is crying, “I don’t care if we are late!” This is unexpected from my first-born, the child usually dressed and ready to go promptly at 7:30 A.M. every day. Why? In my mind, it is a result of my frustration with his last-minute search. But then it happens, as if by magic. Suddenly I am back in third grade, spending all weekend thinking about what to bring in for “show and tell”: I don’t ask for help, ‘cuz I’m not a baby. I am in third grade now. I can take care of myself. Then Monday morning came and I had nothing to show for a weekend of searching for the perfect item. Here I am, in third grade, overwhelmed, with nothing to show to represent my existence. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t bring anything.

I come back to myself…we are still going to be late! No, stay in the magic. Stay in third grade. Here is my chance for redemption.

I have things hidden in the house that have special meaning to me. Items I plan to catalog, store and return to my children at the right time. Step-stool underfoot, I reach to the back of the highest cupboard in the house to retrieve a smelly fluorescent lime green cast that lived on my oldest son’s arm for three months after he broke his arm tumbling down from the top bunk. I receive no words of gratitude, just a look of relief and a brief gaze of appreciation as he tucked his old cast into his backpack and ran to the car.

Here is a definition that illuminates what I am trying to communicate, and quickly defines Peek…Aren’t You Curious:

time |tīm| |taɪm| |tʌɪm|

noun
1 the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

Children allow us the opportunity to Peek back into our own childhood, into our parents’ childhood experiences, even into the experiences of our grandparents. In caring for our children, we can begin to understand our parents from a new perspective. With this gift we are able to Peek forward and ponder how our children will experience time. If we try really hard to live in the magic, we can find redemption for things in the past, and love more fully in the present.

Scott Williams
Parent and Co-Founder
Peek…Aren’t You Curious