Scenes from our Friday night picnic and (clearly) epic soccer game.
I cried while I read the Velveteen Rabbit to the littles tonight.
Like a full on alligator tears, weeping kind of cry.
I remember feeling the sadness in that story when I read it as a kid, but tonight the sorrow just washed over me, and I wept from pretty much the moment the little boy gets Scarlet Fever until the end when the little rabbit goes back to see him again after he is "real."
Ethan kept telling me not to cry but it couldn't be helped.
I feel like that rabbit. Or maybe I just understand that rabbit so much better than I did when I was younger.
I know what it means to love a child now. To really love a child.
To feel them growing inside you; obsess over every single cry when they're brand new. To cradle them when they are sick, counting every croupy breath until they are better. To have your heart break when they stop wanting you to hold them all the time. To see them get hurt as they experiment, change, grow.
Sometimes I feel worn through; that kind of love is exhausting.
Exhausting and beautiful.
The other day Hannah used air quotes when referring to the "Tooth Fairy." She knows the truth about those things now. I laughed when she did it, it was so darling, and then suddenly I realized that that magical part of childhood is over for her, and it feels like it went by too fast.
Like it's all going by too fast with all of them.
This morning she sat at the counter eating Cheerios, her nose glued to her newest book. She's reading "Anne of Green Gables" for the first time. I was at the sink doing the breakfast dishes, and attempting to have a conversation with her. She was absentmindedly answering me. Finally she looked up and said, "I'm so sorry mom, my mind is far away on Prince Edward Island."
If I can help her grow into adulthood preserving every ounce of spark I saw in the kitchen this morning, if I can do that for all of them, well, that will be my opus.