I hear the hushed voice reading and a little giggle here and there though not loud enough to interrupt the story. The boys like to read-out-loud to each other while in bed before they go to sleep. It’s beautiful and I wouldn’t stop it for the world yet I think about how overwhelmed I was at the thought of teaching my kids to read.
I look out the window of the sun room to see two brothers just a little over a year apart sitting on the cold ground with baseball gloves by their sides just talking. My heart melts a little thinking about how close they are and I’m reminded about the tears I actually shed at the thoughts of having 2 children so close together.
I call B2 five times to get up for breakfast and remember how he’s slept like that since birth, sleeping like a charm for two parents who were already sleep deprived.
I watch B3 look at a bird field guide and describe every picture he sees in great detail. I chuckle a little on the inside as I remember how I was concerned that he may never talk.
I look into B4’s striking blue eyes and remember those years when I proclaimed that God must have just decided I should be a mother to boys even though I secretly yearned for her daddy to have a daughter.
I remember quitting my job when B3 was born and hoping that we could manage without my income until he was at least a year old.
I remember praying for the ability to afford private school tuition, only to begin homeschooling two years later.
What do you remember?