Thursday, October 27, 2011


Childhood seems to go so fast because the moments that we treasure the most with our children tend to be too few. Don’t get me wrong, I try to enjoy each and every moment with the little people… sometimes are easier than others… but nonetheless, I try to see past the difficulties and find something lovely or inspiring or memorable in each day.

But the truth is that the moments that are seared into the brain, the really special memories that we look back on with much fondness and love, are rare. Not rare because we don’t make time for them, but rare because that’s the nature of it all. If the stars were always aligned, we’d take them for granted… we wouldn’t see them for how special they really are.

My Benett doesn’t always sit quietly on my lap, coloring a picture. Most of the time he’s being his own brand of little boy who loves to play… the louder and messier the better.

Gavin isn’t always so willing to chat. He’s a friendly little boy who is very articulate, but sometimes when I feel like talking he doesn’t. So I get “okay.”

Ellie tries to keep up with her brothers... but even so, she's the baby. Maybe (most likely) my last baby. I try to soak in each second, because this may be my last chance to experience that littleness. To be the mom of a child so small… one who is discovering the world around her each and every day.

Tonight, as we rocked before bed, she laid quietly in my arms. There was no squirming to get up, no reaching for a book or a toy, there was no crying. It was only us, quiet. My littlest one snuggling in my arms. She would touch my nose. “Nose” she’d say. To which I’d touch her nose. “Nose” I’d say in return. Then ears… then eyes… then cheeks. And smile… her proud little grin lit up the room with each assessment.

When I finally put her in bed and tucked her in with the fuzzy blanket that she loves best, she rolled to her side to watch me go. It was difficult to leave. I just didn’t want that moment to end… but stars don’t remain aligned forever…

I blew my baby girl a kiss and she did the same. If I die tomorrow… or a 50 years from now, I’ll remember that little kissing sound she made with her little hand over her little lips.

That was a moment, so simple and quiet. I’ll treasure it forever and for always, but I won’t expect it again tomorrow. I'm okay with that, because I'll remember today.

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