Monday, June 4, 2012

I keep a journal for each of my kids. I generally write in them every month or two or when they do something exceptionally noteworthy or cute :) Below, I've copied verbatim the most recent entry in my 3-year-old son's journal. Looking at it a second time, there are things I would change/improve. It's certainly not worth any literary accolade, but this is it.

Honestly, I'm not completely sure why I'm posting this for everyone in the cyber world to see. My sense is that it will resonate with moms at all stages of motherhood-- whether your kids are infants or if they've promoted you to a great grandmother.

Logically, I know my kids will grow up, but my heart can't see it. I feel like they'll always be this small. Even though "this small" is redefined every moment. The changes are so slight that I fail to notice them in my hurried life. Then when I look back, I can no more imagine them as a baby as I can a 20-year-old. That time is gone. Just gone.



Saturday, June 02, 2012

My sweet, sweet, tiny man, It's 11:00 at night. I have to get up at 5:30am tomorrow. But I am so full of emotion right now that I just have to write to you.

Uncle AJ & Aunt Julia are out of town this weekend celebrating their 6th wedding anniversary. Last night and tonight, we let Aspen, Lucy, Ori, & you all sleep out in the playroom together. Last night was a bit disastrous, but tonight was much better.

Anyway, I was all ready for bed, and I decided to peek in on you all before heading downstairs. (By the way I peek in on you & Aspen several nights a week. There's just something un-communicate-able about watching my babies sleep) I looked at Ori & then Aspen & then Lucy. When I got to you, something drew me in.

So I knelt beside you, laid my hand on your chest & prayed. For your integrity, joy, strength, peace, a heart for God, protection, love, on & on I went. I told Him that I can't imagine that He loves you more than I do.

Then I thought about how He sees all of you when He looks at you. Your whole life. Your future. I thought about you being big. About how you won't let me sleep with you when you're 35. You won't pester me incessantly for minuscule things. You won't snuggle with me to watch Iron Man or beg me to play Sonic the Hedgehog every waking moment.

I can't even see to write this, my tears are just coming & coming.

You're so small & precious & innocent & sweet & wonderful. And as badly as I want you to grow up, brush your own teeth, night-time potty train, get you own shoes on, and all those petty things, . . . Well I don't want this tiny boy, who I can scoop up in my arms, to vanish. You'll never be this small again. Tomorrow, you'll be 12. And then 27.

I thought about how you're mine right now. You obey what I tell you. You work hard to make sure I'm pleased with your behavior-- even pointing out when you do things just as I requested/instructed. And as you get older, you will slowly stop identifying yourself with me. You'll start doing your own stuff & being your own person. Asserting your individuality.

And I prayed for guidance through that process. That He would hold my heart as you intentionally walk out of it. That He would grant me wisdom as we continually draw and re-draw the outward-growing lines of your freedom. So I would know when to step in & when to back off.

*sigh*

For tonight, this moment, you're still my sweet, precious boy. Moonlight on your face. And my chap stick kiss-mark on your sleeping forehead. I do love you, buddy. <3