A Little of Lately.

My mind is racing through the last few weeks...remembering...treasuring...smiling.

Little snatches that if I don't write down now, I may forget. Because I've forgotten some already.

So I'll remember:

...making cookies and watching my boys hungrily observe the dough balls bake...

...then mining for "coal"

...playing Wii Fit again and again and laughing until our sides hurt to watch Easton do his warm-up stretches and run his laps.

And I'll remember Tate learning how to unlock the iPod and Easton teaching him how to play games...

...playing Twister and playing with Daddy...

...and Tate leaving us to visit Nana and Papa for the first time all by himself...

I'll remember taking Easton to play at a party palace since he couldn't go with Tate...

...and then Tate came home saying "night night gawa (gorilla)" and so I had to order the book since he missed Nana's so much.

...I'll remember Raspberry "Pai" Sunday...

...and the Sunday that was yesterday that greeted us with Spring sunshine warm enough to stroll in...

...And I'll remember taking naps with Easton.

That teach me how to slow down and relax and just sleep.

During one of those naps, I felt a little poke, poke, poke on my arm.  I ignored it for a minute hoping he would roll over and go to sleep.  But the poking continued.  Of course the thought of scolding ran through my mind, but I chose to open my eyes to the biggest, widest ear-to-ear smile from my son.  "That's all," he said.  And then, "Goodnight, Sugar Pie."

Then there was yesterday, which dawned bright and early.  with Patrick at priesthood meeting, I quickly got ready in the stillness of the Sabbath, relishing the peace and the quiet.

To my miraculous astonishment, the boys were still in slumber when I was ready.  So I retreated to a quiet corner to read again "What Happy Homemakers Know" and THIS that I've started reading at the beginning of each morning. (It fringes each morning with a lacy edge that turmoil or messes or trial cannot tear.)  

My heart soared as I lit the candle for breakfast and lovingly set the table.  And then I stepped into my boys' room to gently wake them up. (And since they are usually awake at the crack of dawn, this was the first time I've ever had this opportunity).

We rocked for twenty minutes while the candle flickered and the wax ran down.

 And time stood still.  And I held on desperately to every minute.  For I know that these minutes will hardly last forever.

 Just a whisper on the wind...growing fainter as they grow older.

I still pretend Tate is my baby.  But I know deep down he is not.  

And my arms ache to hold an infant again for my babies are growing into boys.  And someday they'll be men.   

And I'll look out at the frosty fields and wonder where "summer" went.  Too fleetingly gradual to notice the autumn aging.

Have I cherished their childhood enough?  Have I reverenced my role enough to someday look back without regret?

These are the questions that pour through my heart.  These are the questions that have been directing my recent journeys of motherhood.

And I'm ever so grateful.