My Boys

One runs, stumbles, trips, toddles. The other jumps, stomps, crashes, dashes.

When one wants the tricycle, so does the other. When one wants the light-up ball, or the baseball bat, or the golf club, so does the other. And there are crocodile tears. And, "Mooooooommmmm's." And pouty lips.

Mud throwers. Dirt eaters. Puddle jumpers. Skinned knees. Dirty hands. Flushed cheeks.

They rush by, and they giggle with strawberry grins. Fine, straight hair--my hair--sweaty, sticking up like straw. Cheeks that ask for pinching, that beg for kissing, that plead for hands to hold and cup and instruct.

The ding of the tricycle bell and the low growl of the scooter. These sounds I treasure--I breathe so deeply in.

I stood back today and watched you both. I remembered small, little, hospital newness. And those things seem so far away. And in between has been life, full of snuggles, blankies, trips to the library, trips to time-out, kisses, corrections, stern voices, contagious laughter, dinnertime, bedtime. Life.

You, little boys, my boys, will never know how much I love you. Will never know how much I adore you. Will never know how every word--every syllable--you say to me, I savor. You could never bore me. You grasp the world with both hands and ask questions. Good questions. And make observations. Good observations.

Little boys are treasures. And tiring. And everything in between. You are my soul and my strength. I pray over you and your skinned knees, and your elbows, and your strawberry hair. I kiss you at night when I stand by your bed and over your crib--watching you, and knowing you'll never know how much I love you. You are the ache and the fulfillment. You are the adventure I lead, and the adventure I want to succeed. You are my little boys, my children, and I love you to the moon and back.