The Little Things

I’ve noticed that as my kids have gotten older, I’ve forgotten some of the little things.

I don’t mean phone numbers or where I put the keys.  

Nor do I mean specific memories or special dates (although I have been known to forget both of those).  

I mean, I literally forget the little things.  

You see, when my oldest was five, I got really good at understanding five, but then he turned six and I had to understand that.  Now he’s 11 and I’m over here trying to work out an 11 year old’s brain inside mine but I’ve forgotten about the glory of being five.

I forgot how being five is a time of great growth and development.

And how being five is as simple as fingerpaints and slick paper.

How being five is as simple as the delight of a cookie.  Or a snuggle in the middle of the day.  Or rocking to sleep in the big blue chair.

I almost forgot that being five doesn’t require running around from activity to activity…sometimes it just requires paying attention.  Listening.  Trying to understand.  

Being five and saying “Mommy, watch me,” “Mommy, let’s play together” isn’t an invitation to put it off because one of these days she won’t be five and she won’t be begging me to pay attention.  This is my chance.  Right now.  

I’m glad I was sleep deprived when I ordered school supplies this year and dumped an entire kindergarten artpack in my cart.  Because now I remember that fingerpaints at five is a serious highlight of the day.  I’m so glad this moment didn’t pass us by.

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