Joy (in the midst of the mess)

They both love to swing. Joseph calls it "push."

About a month ago, my sister and nieces came to visit for a long weekend over their spring break.  Her girls are 8 and 10 (almost 11!).   In my current state of diaper-changing, snot-wiping, spill-cleaning, shoe-finding messiness, I often find myself wishing my mess-makers were not so little.  It happens completely by accident, popping into my head as I'm in the middle of wondering who is screaming and why the floor is sticky and if Joseph is playing with the toilet again.

When they're older, I think, it will be so much easier to travel. (Because of course the smallest little will actually sleep when we do...or at least I really hope so.)

When they're older, it will be so much easier to ask them to help around the house. (Because right now the "help" they give, and love to give, often just creates another mess.)

When they're older, it will be so much easier to get in and out of the car. (Because they can unbuckle themselves.)

When they're older, it will be so much easier to make dinner. (Because one won't always be hanging on my legs and crying to be held.)

And the list goes on...

I always enjoy the time I spend with my nieces (and nephews) who are older.  I snuggled them as newborns and sniffed their little fuzzy heads so their mamas could nap and shower.  I bought them birthday presents that were bigger and louder than their own parents would buy (for which I am now paying the price, evidenced by the giant stuffed puppy dog in the playroom).  When they got bigger, I listened to them sound out books. 

And now they are getting big. They read and play sports and go to school all day long.  They get mad at their mom, who says no to taking their iPads to dinner, and they have books introducing them to puberty and periods.  Their legs are long and lanky, and middle school lurks just around the corner for the oldest, who is stuck in the awkward in-between of playing with dolls and going to dances.

So while I adore them and appreciate their ability to have actual conversations and handle taking showers entirely on their own, being around them reminds me to appreciate my own littles' smallness.  I notice Joseph's chubby cheeks and they way he smacks his lips when he's eating something he really likes.  I appreciate how, in their mind, the best thing I can announce is "let's play outside!"  They'll play happily in the bathtub with a few cups and some bubbles, and spend hours outside digging in the sandbox, looking for worms in the dirt, and swinging.   

Already Nora is getting big, heading to kindergarten in the fall, telling me she has decided to marry her friend at school instead of her brother. (She changes her mind on this daily.)  But she still wants to sit on my lap to read a book, and snuggle at bedtime. She is over the moon when I come to help at school parties or read to her class. I know this won't always be the case, and I can feel homework and boys and a lot of eye-rolling coming toward me.  I am grossly unprepared.

I still lose my patience, often.  I get frustrated that diaper changes look more like wrestling matches, and dinnertime sometimes crumbles into "if you eat three more bites, then..."  But then I watch them sleep, so little and peaceful in their beds, and know they are still babies.  They are still my little shadows for a minute longer, and I'm trying, at least, to enjoy it.

Soccer is always more fun when it's muddy.

No pants party at the lake

She was so excited to find the golden egg. (It had five dollars in it!!)