How many years are there?

The other morning my newly-turned-five-year-old and I were sitting on the couch watching cartoons and eating Doritos while the other half of our family went on a bike ride.

Savvy was singing the Days of the Week song, which is where you just start with Sunday and sing the days of the week to the tune of Oh My Darling Clementine. Try it, it’s catchy.

Savvy: “I know how many days there are. Seven.” Continue reading



Savannah’s new favorite word is “Wait!”

When my husband heads out the door for work in the morning, she toddles behind him shouting “Wait! Wait! Wait!” He stops and turns. This is where her limited vocabulary fails her, so she says everything else on her mind with a tiny triumphant smile that says, I won. I stopped you. I postponed the inevitable. She is rewarded with one more kiss then she toddles off to find a new treasure.

The thing is, I know exactly how she feels. Time is going by too fast. When I glance at Facebook the parents are the grandparents and the kids are the mommies and daddies. Souls are coming and going from the earth and babies are having birthdays and there is no way to stop time. I try to grasp it when I look at my children. I take mental pictures. Even as I scribble my thoughts on a notebook in the dark, sharing a blanket with two little girls as The Little Mermaid plays on TV, I know I shouldn’t be thinking about blogging, I should be kissing them and smelling them and absorbing them. Their tiny painted toenails are like little worry stones. What does a mommy do without tiny toes to hold?

It’s just going by too fast.


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