For a number of reasons I haven't been on here in a while. Our computer crashed, life was busy, Facebook is faster, Pinterest sucked my free time, my thoughts were disorganized, and often I felt like I was just talking to myself. Why write a blog if I'm usually the only one reading it?
But it's been nagging in the back of my mind. I like writing. I like recording bits of our life. I like looking back at old entries, smiling at the sweet times, challenging myself to do the things I've dreamed about and remembering how God has been with us through every up and down.
This week I saw (on Facebook, of course) an essay by a woman whose youngest son had just left for college. She spoke of the childhood that has passed so quickly, of big moments preserved in photo albums, but the little things consumed by the passage of time. Especially touching to me was her story of the day she started to cross the street and reached down for the little hand that was always there, only this time it wasn't. The little boy had grown into a big boy and no longer wanted to hold her hand. She goes on to describe the moments when her sons were 12, 13, 14 years old. They seems so big at the time but now that she's on the other side of it she misses those early teenage years, too.
It's like that for mothers, isn't it? What seems so big today seems like a sweet baby when we look back a year later. I've let two babies go so far. One more is getting ready to head out soon. It's exciting and fulfilling and heart-wrenching all in one. I want to treasure every little moment I have with them before they leave, too. My primary role for 24 years now has been to love and teach and encourage and nurture these precious children. I could spend hours writing about what I wish I had done differently, better. Instead, I want to capture in my mind's eye every one of the precious "ordinary" things that I can. Snuggles and book reading, singalongs in the car, text conversations that literally make me LOL, band-aids on a knee, talks of dreams of the future, reaching up high for a good-night hug, and bending low to kiss a freckled nose.
I want to write about them, dear-diary style. To photograph them when I can. To make sure that the little things don't get lost in the big things. I'm going to do that here, maybe sometimes a little more personal, less exciting than before. Just special to me. So I don't forget.
These two young men still hold my hand (sometimes):
And on this occasion we were listening to two other brothers (named Joshua and David Michael, interestingly) play in a piano "duel" as part of the Carolina Philharmonic series. It was incredible. And these two piano players were very motivated to get home and play on their own.
