Go.
4 blue eyes and 2 sets of matching thick eyelashes. 20 sticky fingers and dirty toes.
Half a dozen smooches and hugs and day. 5 sideways looks, stomping feet and flailing arms.
8 long limbs throwing balls, kicking stones, running bases, swinging swords.
3 smart remarks, 2 tantrums and 1 tired but grateful mama.
Sometimes, within the same 10 seconds, I am completely, over the moon caught up in a deep conversation with a 3 year-old and his amazing preschool accent, explaining to me how a raffle works. (His art show is tonight). And then in the next breath, I start to sweat as I try to calm his outburst when he realizes that we just don't get to pick up the Nerf gift basket and take it home tonight, that 100 other parents and kids put tickets in the hopper to win, too.
Often, I am fascinated by the keen ability of my 9 year-old to rattle off baseball, football or basketball stats. I am always up to date on breaking ESPN news. Just ask me, I'll probably know the answer. A curse and a blessing, that kid's brain moves so quickly, processing so much information through it at lightning-fast speed, it's hard to imagine how on Earth he can retain and re-explain those sports facts faster than he could begin to break down a simple story problem. Cleveland Browns + Johnny Manziel = one hyped up little football fan.
20 years growing together. Almost 15 as an official married couple. Hubbie and I still argue that the other is the better 1/2 of the equation. And we're both right.
For all of these little numbers add up to one very grateful mom and wife this Mother's Day weekend.
Stop.
