“Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.”–John Betjeman


{this one}

My oldest boy is something else, entirely.  He’s kind, gentle, introspective, quiet…sometimes he’ll lay down in his room in the middle of the day–just for the quiet.

Except for when he’s none of those things because he’s also fickle.

{better late than never?}

He is my youngest:  small and lithe, malleable but rigid, outspoken and precocious.  We do battle very near daily which pains me to no end, but I have faith that this is because he knows who he is.  My job is to help him find his place in this world and to remind him that regardless of what he finds out there, here–right here–he is always welcome and wanted.

I realized this morning as I was charging up my camera battery that while I am constantly photographing the people in my life, I don’t capture the tiny details.  And tomorrow?  Tomorrow, his tiny hand will be just a little bit bigger.  Nothing perceptible to my conscious, but I know that the Universe will have taken note.