So today was a Tuesday, meaning nothing special but pretty great, too. We have embraced the fact that fall in Texas is really just an overcast summer; however, since the makers of Halloween apparel are under the impression that long sleeves are required - we took matters into our own hands and I had these ghost shirts made for the kiddos. 

(Otherwise known as creepy Pac-Man goblins.)

After school we got our spooky-decorating on and spent roughly the longest 35 minutes of my life adjusting spiderwebs. Landry thought it was food, Emmy wanted it in her hair, Radley wanted it really scary, and I just wanted it done. 

I was pretty much feeling like mom-of-the-year.

But in moments like those, I cling to the thought that I will one day miss this. I will inevitably want every tiny moment back. I will want them to need me, ask me questions, hang on me, pull my hand, and touch my face with their tiny sticky fingers. 

We successfully finished the web hanging, dinner, playtime, baths, and prayers before putting Miss L to bed. When I walked back into the living room, I realized that "it" has already happened. I already miss them. 

Their baby faces. Their baby-thin hair. Their stillness. Their quiet. Them. 

Emmy was happily tracing letters and numbers because she needs to "pack-tis" and Radley was picking out a book to read to ME. 

How did it happen so quickly? And why am I always in a hurry to speed things up when I should be content in the mundane of a Tuesday. The practicality of a life filled with crumbs, and muddy shoes, and crazy hair, and sticky fingers. Why would I ever want that to be sped up at all?

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