Time passes

Tiny hands, corn niblet toes, wide-eyed kisses with sweet bubbling lips and a tiny exhale. My babies. There are moments when I remember each one's childhood so vividly I physically ache with the longing as I recognize that time has gone by. I'm continually struck by the irreplaceableness of it all.

My sunny-bunny 3-year-old girl and her joy at dancing in the sprinklers.

My daring 4-year-old son, climbing the outside of the jungle gym, dangling like a monkey and roaring like a tiger.

My adventurous 5-year-old in his lanky green snow hat, sword fighting imaginary monsters with a pretzel stick.

Where did they go?

Where are those soft cheeks, the kissing of which I used to have unrestricted access?

The 7-year-old still snuggles me and let's me smooch her cheeks and rub her back and tickle her feet and pet her hair and massage her neck as much as possible ; the 14-year-old allows hugs only and only the occasional smooch on his cheek, but he MUST be grimacing at all times; and my 17-year-old has transitioned to one-armed side-hugs-- he's too tall for me even reach his cheeks anymore, let alone kiss them.

My sweet girl tells me tales of all she is doing in school and rarely misses a detail or any found opportunity to share, and share, and share what she is learning.

My engaging middle boy occasionally admits he attends a school and details of his travails there are delivered sparingly, and only when asked. Then begged. Then cajoled. Conversely, any SCRUBS episode can be and often is  recounted ad nauseum, from memory and without request.

And my ever-growing oldest boy, my monosyllabic young man, is filling out college applications.

Time marches on. I watch with awe and surprise as I discover another hunk of gray hair emerge from some heretofore hidden but now completely obvious place on my head.  I have no crows feet; just the tracks some overlarge bird left at the corners of my eyes. They're there-- under my glasses.

And one day flows into the next. Right now, while I'm wrenching stinky teens from slumber, pushing them out the door to school, I pause and take a moment to revel in the small arms of my little girl as she wakes to my good morning hug and fills my morning with chatter about her dreams from the previous night. She still needs me, but even better? She still wants me in her life.

And I'm clinging to every little gift each of these moments provide.