My youngest boy is my little buddy and is constantly found following me around EVERYWHERE and “helping” me out.

And, uh, the definition of “following me around” is like this:

  • following me into the kitchen (and climbing into the dishwasher as i try to load dirty dishes into it)
  • following me into the bathroom (and emptying EVERY drawer and systematically taking apart EVERY tiny thing that is in each drawer)
  • following me out in the yard to do chores (then picking up chicken poop and bringing it to me while yelling “pooooo!”)
  • following me out to the goat pen (and sitting on my lap while i milk, squirting some into his cute little mouth every time he signs “milk”)
  • following me from room to room crying and holding his Precious (his most favorite blanket that we dare not touch) until i drop what i’m doing and pick him up and hold him
  • running from me and disappearing under the clothes rack of every store i dare let him out of the cart in.

And sometimes, this drives me crazy!

But today, while I was trying to do my hair, my youngest boy, my BABY, tried to run around my left leg and between my legs around and around and around like he loves to do every time I try to do something with this scraggly hair atop of my head.

And he couldn’t.

He was too tall.

I looked down at him, and he looked up at me, and he grinned.

Then he ran out the bathroom door, into my bedroom, and off into the living room to play with his brothers.

I looked down at my empty bathroom, my free leg; I felt the quiet and peace in the small space as I hurriedly braided my hair.

And I was sad.

There is a time and season to every aspect of life, good, annoying, or bad. And I realized that as annoying as that leg-spinning-around-phase was, and as great as the i’m-gonna-go-knock-down-the-awesome-tower-my-brothers-just-built phase, the little happy moments of THAT phase are gone.

And I didn’t get to enjoy as many of them as I should have.

So tomorrow when this little one pulls one of his MANY shenanigans, I’m going to take it in, love it (as much as i can) and I”m going to treasure it. I might even take a picture or two. Because if these moments are passing by this fast now, how blurry will they be in a year? or five? or ten?

So I’ll stop, take it, and treasure it.

At least until he picks up more chicken poop.

Mitt Collage


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