So much can happen in a year.
It starts innocently enough. It's human nature to think about what is around the corner... to plan for what is coming next.
I know I'm guilty of looking beyond, more often than necessary... wondering "what if?" too often. And when I do pull my head out of the clouds I see that I'm rushing through some days, trudging through others.
I feel blessed that so many days are also filled with happiness and lovely memories. These things, I've tucked safely into a special corner of my heart. A place that is reserved for these people, who are so dear to me.
I feel blessed that some days can be marked by the lessons we've learned... teaching us important lessons about our lives. And balance dictates that other moments are comprised of unpleasant or painful experiences.
One year ago, this is the way my little people looked. Now, I look at their little faces and my heart aches. I see their smaller selves and I think of how much they've grown in this span of time, that seems now, to have flashed before me.
I was there. I lived in each moment with them. But I can't recall them now. I want to be able to flip through these cataloged memories and experiences and remember it all. Every second. Sadly I cannot.
Gavin has grown so much. He looks less like a child each day, and at times has more adult conversation with me than some of the 'grown-ups' I know.
Benett still as that mischievous twinkle, that may never subside. He has developed such a funny personality. He treats each day like a party, and he wants to be the life of it.
Miss Ellie isn't a baby any longer. She's a little girl. She's growing more and more independent each day. She's gone from this quiet and reserved baby to a jabbering, squealing toddler.
Part of me wishes that I could turn back the clock and enjoy just one more day with these one-year-ago kids. But I cannot. I won't dwell on that, because just like looking too far ahead, spending too much time looking back won't do either.
As I type, I'm growing anxious to finish these thoughts. To wrap them all together and put them to rest with the other lessons learned... then slowly and purposely, steal a few moments watching my little people sleep. To firmly root myself in the now. Soaking in each. Listening as they softly, slowly breathe in and out. Stroking a hand or a cheek. Watching them stir and settle deeper into their beds. The whole time, being entirely in the now.