of the morning, sometimes I remember their eyes when they looked up at me. Or the sticky hands or legos on the floor. I remember the cut up oranges and apples with peanut butter. The Barbies and dinosaurs that made up the 80’s and a good part of the 90’s of my life. Beds full of arms and legs as they scrambled into our bed on Sunday morning, the line of us making our way into church.
And, sometimes it makes me sad. Melancholy actually — no surprise I guess. Those years were like jello – soft, colorful, quiet yet capable of eliciting squeals of joy and wails of sorrow. My children stretched and grew, totally oblivious to the inevitability of change, yet embracing every new skill, word, personality spike. And I ached to grow with them . Moments of success punctuated by days of “dear lord, did I really do/say that?”