There are days when I see myself so much in her, I can’t help but be transported immediately back to childhood. The tea parties, the hair-doing, the make-up stealing, the love of dress-up and dolls and choreographing the perfect game of House. Despite looking so much like her father, she is such a mini-me and it gives me chills to see her grow.
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My kids have some sort of wave or curls in their hair, but Baby Dude seemingly had none, until a couple months ago. I’ve put off cutting his hair, because of the curls he seems to have acquired in the back, but after a particularly rough sleep, he woke up with crazy hair, funked out in all directions like an 80’s rocker. I knew the sweet curls he’d suddenly sprouted had to go.
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Except for the occasional gas-inspired laugh, sweet Baby V hadn’t smiled or giggled my way until a couple days ago. Her recognition of my voice and face, now that she can see me , fills me with a goosebumps kind-of happy I don’t ever want to end. Ever.
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He may talk big and act tough, but my oldest son’s heart is all marshmallow. He still likes cuddling with me, still wants me to run my fingers through his hair when we hug, and still reaches for my hand when we walk in a parking lot. My heart aches at the thought that those days are numbered.
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She may seem shy and timid, but my oldest daughter is fastly becoming more take-charge by the day. It delights me to see her take command of a situation, say, cooking lunch, or picking up a little one who got a boo-boo. I can see a young woman replacing the small girl at times, but I’m grateful for the little girl that’s still left. I hope she never rids of it completely.
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He never likes my kisses in public, nor does he want me to hug him, but there are times when my seven-year-old threads his fingers within mine that he reminds me of when he was a smaller boy, when he needed me more. His curls and eyelashes are bigger than his small dude body. He is far too big for his britches, but from beneath his big eyes I know he still needs me.
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My middle daughter’s at such an awkward age; she doesn’t know whether to want to be older or younger, play with girls her age or be the tomboy she is normally, whether to acknowledge boys exist or shove ’em down when she plays soccer against ’em, but the girl’s all heart, and I dare any guy to step up and try to hurt that heart, he might end up in a cast.
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I decided to start writing heartfully about something, anything and nothing on Tuesdays. I’ve coined it “Truth Tuesday.” Have something to share? Want to confess, or share a little itty bitty piece of yourself or someone else, no matter how small or how big? This week I decided to write about my children. I’ll leave whatever interpretation of truths you wish to share on yourself, but if you’d like a weekly prompt or have a suggestion for one, let me know. Want to join me? If you decide to share, leave your links in the comments.
