blessed beyond measure

At ten til seven, I kneel beside his bed, put my hand on his back, and silently pray for him. A few moments later, he stirs, opens his eyes, and smiles at me. We talk for a bit. Not about school. I don't want to kick off the nerves, in case he has some. And maybe I don't trust myself. Aden calls for me from his crib, and so everyone is up and moving. I crave pancakes all day long I know the importance of a good breakfast and am determined that Trey will get something wholesome before starting his big day. He says he's not hungry. I plop down a super-nutritious bowl of Fruit Loops in front of him and tell him he needs to eat anyway. But cereal was not in the cards. What was in the cards was an adrenaline-pumping, left-turns-only race around the kitchen table. Trey shouting, "School day!!" Aden shouting, "Ani go!!" (Aden calls himself Ani and thinks it's hilarious.) Seriously, they need more energy. By some miracle I manage to wrangle...

It's a big night. Tomorrow is your first day of school. I can't believe you fell asleep so easily. Our worrier, our planner, our kicking-and-screaming-into-change boy. God has answered one of my many prayers, and quieted your mind so that you could rest. I'm sitting in your room, watching you sleep. And remembering a time almost five years ago when I sat in this very spot. It was your first night in your crib. I was scared to death that you'd stop breathing. That you would get too cold or too hot. That you would lose your paci or come unswaddled and wake up with that trademark squeak-cry. There I sat, in my postpartum depression, I'll-never-sleep-again stupor, wondering how in the world one night could last so long. Surely Kindergarten never crossed my mind. Age five was a thousand years away. Yet here we are, on the verge of you becoming a certified, documented grown-up boy. Off on your own. Sort of. Tonight I am not scared. Nervous, yes. Proud, ...

Reflecting on... Who knows how long worth of fingerprints and footprints and face prints on a mirror that the sentamentalist in me now regrets cleaning. The final day of a play-together-all-day-every-day era for two boys who, despite their differences and frequent spats, really do love each other. A big brother who, just last night, faced his fears at Kindergarten orientation and willingly walked away from me to join a group of boys and girls. A rare smile on the face of a little brother, now lost in the grips of the terrible twos, who has no idea what is about to happen to his world. How great it would be to have my camera permanently attached to my person so I'd never miss priceless moments like these. Just reflecting.

Just a blink was all it took for this summer to slip slide away. I am so afraid of forgetting it, for we have found ourselves in such a precious time of our lives. The last summer of having two truly-little boys. For the first time, Aden's sweet two-year-old speech in conversation with his brother. Melts. My. Heart. Realizing what an incredible blessing it is that Brandon can spend a few months with his boys, not having to go to work. Oh, how they need that man time. A season I want to remember. With vacation last week, it just sort of happened that I took nine days off from the computer. Never read a news article, never checked the weather, didn't read a single blog post. I did sign onto email once (to send something) and put up our beach pics, but that's it. It was liberating. Also liberating was the fact that, for the larger part of those nine days, I had no idea what time it was. And didn't have to know. Just got to relax. Really, really relax and...

ahhhhhh with this we bid a fond farewell to a memorable summer and brace ourselves for a fall season like no other more to come plenty more