3 Bussly Little Things

Another week is done and I'm left with a few blurry remembrances of the weekend. Shiny little eyes danced and weaved through the house, onto the soccer field, through a grocery store and gas station, onto our church bench. The girls with their delicate little wrists grabbed my hands as we retrieved popsicles from the freezer and stomped on some fire ants.

All but completely lifeless, Jake and I sat on the couch tonight finishing our 9 o'clock dinner. Girls came out one by one to tell on each other for doing that and that, and explain the unfairness of that. We both agreed that their growing intelligence, reason, communication, and logic is beyond our ability to absorb.

You can watch them talk, see their mouths moving, and all you hear is this melody, the sweetest song, coming from their deepness, filling the air. You see yesterday, today, tomorrow, stretching into something unknown and far away but you can feel it coming. An older version of themselves. Independent, knowing and strong.

Soon they'll know us, inside and out. And I'll feel as exposed as my mother probably felt. No one will know me like they will, and likewise. I can't believe these little gifts I've been given. I shake my head every day in disbelief. They're mine. At least for now. And I love it.