Remembering

I am a fairly nostalgic person about some things.  Clothes?  No.  High school?  Oh, HELL to the no.  My kids being babies?

Most emphatically, YES.

A few minutes ago, I hollered upstairs at the kids and asked them to come empty the dishwasher.  They gallumphed down the stairs to do my bidding, and I'm not sure why, but the noise triggered something. I think it reminded me of the old house and how the kids used to come tromping down the hall like a small herd of elephants.

The aforementioned Hall of Elephant Children

It suddenly hit me (again, because this has been happening every few weeks for the past few months) that my time with my children really is limited.  M1 is 10; M2 8.  I'm about halfway through the cycle of parenting wherein the children legally have to live with their parents.  When I first started this blog, I thought the kids were huge.

Now, I know better... and in another four years, I'll know better still.

M1, age 10... and a half

M2: My Teensy-Bean is no longer Teensy

I remembered how the kids used to fit on my lap.  I remembered when they couldn't empty the dishwasher or open a cabinet above the countertop without climbing on a ladder.  I remembered the tiny clothes and the digestible toothpaste and their smiles when they looked up at me and lifted their arms so I could hoist them onto my hip and haul them everywhere.  Everything just came flooding back to me.

Both kids noticed the silly, slightly tearful smile I got.

"Wut, Mom?" asked M1, with his inquisitive yet flat affect, working diligently all the while so he could get back to his game ASAP.

"Yeah, Mom, why are you smiling like that?" M2 echoed, bouncing over to the arm of the couch, grateful for any excuse to stop working for a moment.

"Just having a Mommy Moment, kiddos... just having a Mommy Moment."

I hope those moments stay with me forever.  I don't ever want to forget!