THE RUMORS ARE TRUE. CHILDREN GROW AT AN IMPOSSIBLY RAPID RATE. BLINK AND THEY ARE ONTO SOMETHING NEW, FORMING NEW WORDS, CORRECTING MISPRONUNCIATIONS (you almost wish they wouldn't), FAVORING NEW TOYS, LEAVING BEHIND OLD FAVORITES, EXPRESSING THEMSELVES IN NEW WAYS, WALKING AND TALKING THEIR WAY RIGHT INTO ADOLESCENCE.
I WISH I COULD BOTTLE UP EVERY MOMENT OF THEIR CHILDHOODS, STORE THEM ON A SHELF, AND REOPEN THEM EACH TIME I FEEL LIKE TAKING A QUIET STROLL DOWN MEMORY LANE. I WANT TO PRESERVE THE SWEET SMELLS OF INNOCENCE, THE HEART WARMING SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER, THE SALTY TEARS THAT FLOW, EACH AFFECTIONATE EMBRACE, TENDER KISS, TICKLE, AND TOUCH.
I BELIEVE AEROSMITH PUT IT BEST, "...AND, I DON'T WANT TO MISS A THING..."
ALAS, I DO NOT HAVE A LIMITLESS SUPPLY OF BOTTLES.
I HAVE A BLOG.
AND, TODAY I WANT TO BOTTLE UP THEIR EARLY MORNING MOMENTS.
The little lady...
begins each morning brushing against the gate that is at her door (it has been there since moving her into a toddler bed and might remain their until she is old enough to date...say age 16...we are still debating.) I hear her gentle signs and huffs, gently urging me to arrive at her door. Occasionally, little knocks can be heard, as her tiny knuckles strike the frame of her door. There are no words, with the exception of those mornings when she wakes with a song on her heart, and sweet melodies fill our hallway signaling the start of a new day. When I turn the corner, I find her gentle frame propped up against the gate, tousled hair hanging in her face. She waits for my smile and then releases her own beautiful and bashful morning grin. Her face (in my opinion) is perfect at this hour (which can fall anywhere between 6am and 7am). She reaches up for my arms, and then suddenly rushes back into her room remembering to collect her beloved pink blankie and water sippy cup. Upon returning, she is ready to be embraced; however, only for the length of the hallway. For each and every day (for her) begins with a time of "milk, blankie and TV" on the couch. Uninterrupted. Once her milk is finished, she is ready to make plans for the day.
The little man...
is typically the last one to rise each day. Upon waking, he tosses his beloved papi with precision, so that it makes an unmistakable sound as it hits the carpeted floor. He then releases a series of cheerful shouts, alerting the household of his wakefulness. As I enter our bedroom, the one he has shared with Jeff and I since 6 months of age (this arrangement keeps us all sleeping soundly), I find him standing in the corner of his crib. He immediately falls over in a fit of giggles, pulling his blankies over his head. After an amusing minute of play, he rises, points at his papi, and is ready to be retrieved. He focuses his attention on my face, and blesses me the sweetest of early morning stares. With full blown bedhead and saggy diaper, he makes his way down the hallway to reunite with his sissy. He pulls himself onto the couch, sitting as close to his sister as possible and coyly pulls at her blanket. This inevitably leads to an early morning game of tug-o-war.
And, with little shrieks of delight (his) and angst (hers), our day has begun.
AND, TODAY I WANT TO BOTTLE UP THEIR EARLY MORNING MOMENTS.
The little lady...
begins each morning brushing against the gate that is at her door (it has been there since moving her into a toddler bed and might remain their until she is old enough to date...say age 16...we are still debating.) I hear her gentle signs and huffs, gently urging me to arrive at her door. Occasionally, little knocks can be heard, as her tiny knuckles strike the frame of her door. There are no words, with the exception of those mornings when she wakes with a song on her heart, and sweet melodies fill our hallway signaling the start of a new day. When I turn the corner, I find her gentle frame propped up against the gate, tousled hair hanging in her face. She waits for my smile and then releases her own beautiful and bashful morning grin. Her face (in my opinion) is perfect at this hour (which can fall anywhere between 6am and 7am). She reaches up for my arms, and then suddenly rushes back into her room remembering to collect her beloved pink blankie and water sippy cup. Upon returning, she is ready to be embraced; however, only for the length of the hallway. For each and every day (for her) begins with a time of "milk, blankie and TV" on the couch. Uninterrupted. Once her milk is finished, she is ready to make plans for the day.
The little man...
is typically the last one to rise each day. Upon waking, he tosses his beloved papi with precision, so that it makes an unmistakable sound as it hits the carpeted floor. He then releases a series of cheerful shouts, alerting the household of his wakefulness. As I enter our bedroom, the one he has shared with Jeff and I since 6 months of age (this arrangement keeps us all sleeping soundly), I find him standing in the corner of his crib. He immediately falls over in a fit of giggles, pulling his blankies over his head. After an amusing minute of play, he rises, points at his papi, and is ready to be retrieved. He focuses his attention on my face, and blesses me the sweetest of early morning stares. With full blown bedhead and saggy diaper, he makes his way down the hallway to reunite with his sissy. He pulls himself onto the couch, sitting as close to his sister as possible and coyly pulls at her blanket. This inevitably leads to an early morning game of tug-o-war.
And, with little shrieks of delight (his) and angst (hers), our day has begun.
No comments:
Post a Comment