Home, Always...

I walk through our house in the dark.  I step quietly down the hall to my daughters' room, half-asleep - but fully intent on making sure my children are okay.  Whenever I wake in the middle of the night, I can't help myself.  I just need to see them asleep in their beds.  In the dim bluish glow of the nightlight, I see their precious little heads.  Quiet little loves, resting safely...  May my home always be theirs, in their hearts.

Water For The Gods...

My daughters squirm between the filtered water dispenser, a magazine rack and a candy machine, while I painstakingly fill water bottles for our water cooler at home.  It's "fun" to try and get the water bottles in place and constantly feed bills and change into the slot, while yelling at my girls not to go back behind these machines and touch stuff while I'm doing this.  Meanwhile, people are coming in and out of the store with groceries, glancing disapprovingly at the parts of my children's bodies sporadically poking out from behind the 3 large metal containers at the store exit.

While this is not a moment of pride, it is one to be remembered.  So this is my written "snapshot" -  followed by pictures of my daughters laying around at home...

Cleaner than when you arrived...

I used to pick up trash and throw it away.  My parents were very big on this - even when camping, my dad would always make us leave our spot cleaner than it was when we got there.  And if there was no trash to be found, we'd have to look around until we found some to clean up, or we couldn't leave.

Now I look at a piece of garbage and I immediately see the germs lingering all over it.  I imagine those germs winding up on my fingers and then on my children the next time I pick one up.

Then I leave it there.

(Actually I still pick it up about half the time.  Then I'm always looking for a place to wash my hands.)

One Day

"Swing me, Daddy."  My daughter says this and I can't refuse.   Or she asks me to help her find her Cinderella shoes.  Or my other daughter asks me to try and catch her or, or slice an apple, or  go draw on the driveway with chalk.  I can't refuse, because I immediately think that one day - She'll never ask me that again.  She'll never ask for me to play a game with her or hold her or help her with something.  One of our children is given to asking me or her mom to "Cuddle me."  How in the world can any parent EVER refuse?  So I do it.  I stop what I'm doing (which is probably cleaning up after the other child) and do one more thing with my child, who was once my baby, who will one day be grown-up.  That grown-up child ought to have a cell-phone plan that allows her/him to receive unlimited texts.  Because they're going to get a ton of them...  "Hi honey - I have some free time.  Want me to come over and swing you?"

Are We Really Doing this Again?!

Have another baby?  We've thought seriously about this.  Our conclusions are best expressed with a little help from Taylor Swift. :-)

The Perfect Size

I have a plan
I ought not tell
But you may know it just as well
To keep them tiny, keep them small
Ensure they will not grow at all

I have a plan, I'll shrink them
Into my pocket blink them

I have a plan
When no one's looking
I'll put them to sleep
In that way they'll keep
Precious little angels dreaming
Night and day I don't stop scheming

I have a plan, I'll mold them
So tightly will I hold them
Safe in the swaddle they will stay
Never will there come a day
When they grow up and go away!

I have a plan, I'll pinch them
I'll tuck them in and inch them
I'll squeeze them tight, I'll cinch them
With all my might, I'll clinch them
Just as they're the perfect size

I have a plan to grow them down
Like plants that creep along the ground
I'll keep their heads and bodies low
Like mini monsters in a row
With blissful faces all aglow

I have a plan to wrangle them
To constantly untangle them
To keep their arms and legs from sprouting
And from their clothes always grow-outing
I'll talk to them, no lies, no shouting

My plan is simple:  Just reverse
This make-believe destroying curse
That makes the doubts and fears grow worse
I'll show them hope instead and pride
I'll fill them full with love inside

And when my plan stops them from climbing
Towards regret and rigid timing
Then I'll turn and let them teach me
With their elfin fingers reach me
In their blessed way beseech me
Not to lament their growing older
Instead I'd better choose the bolder path
The one the seasons blithely take
And know their own is no mistake

Will I Remember?

As soon as my children fall asleep, all I want to do is stare at them.  Their little faces are so sweet.  They are so peaceful and perfect. They are so young, so precious, I feel as if all I want to do is stay with them, love them and keep them safe.  It's as if they've somehow become so much of a priority, that it takes an effort to come up with even a handful of other things that are truly meaningful to me - besides these little people of mine.  Besides my wife, there really doesn't seem to be anything nearly as important.  The feeling is so acute, that I'm fixated on them, and I can hardly stand it.  It happens each night, and I'm sad for them to grow up.  I want to climb into bed with them and just be there.  And I wonder, when they're grown, will I remember this time - and just how much it meant to me?