Eight.
A whirlwind of smiles and hugs and simple moments alongside each other.
He continues to twist the throttle, full speed ahead…
…while I keep letting off of mine, content with right where we are.
But there’s no slowing things down.
No matter how much I might wish.
And yet...
I’m hyper-focused here.
Where the smallest things are the largest.
Where the everyday is everything.
Him: Dad, I want to get the number 8 buzzed into my head.
Me [smiling]: Yeah?
Him: Yep, for my 8th birthday.
It's on Friday.
Me: Go for it.
...and he did.
The smiles -- priceless.
My heart -- swollen.
This kid.
When he's in...
...he's all in.
Driving our two oldest (aka The Bigs) to school this morning.
More conversation than usual.
Palpable excitement.
Fridays will do that.
We chat about reading books.
Bookmarks.
What we use to mark the page.
Whether we (gasp) bend the page.
Sometimes it’s my business card I say.
Liam jokes…because you like to see yourself.
I smile.
Maybe, sometimes I do.
It’s not a photo.
Just some simple text.
Talking about the business card makes me think about my shuttered photography business.
We start talking about my website, thewairehouse.com , and how some of their classmates are finding it…asking questions, etc.
It still exists even though I’m no longer in business.
The blog continuing to serve as a diary of sorts.
It makes me wonder what people think when they visit it now.
I can’t part with it.
It’s a part of me.
Perhaps the heart of my story.
Nothing crazy or flashy or mind blowing or earth shattering.
Ordinary stuff.
Maybe that’s it — what I want people to see and realize (within their own worlds).
What I continue to circle back to time and time again.
What I mentioned to The Bigs as we drove along to school this morning with a little tear in my eye…because being there with them, in that moment, meant the world to me.
The everyday is everything.
He'll be eight in 8 days.
For the better part of the last 3 plus years, I've been taking him to bed.
We've got a routine.
Turning a small lamp on.
Him climbing up in the top bunk.
Me pulling his sheets back and re-spreading them over him.
Him sticking his hand up for a high five.
Me giving one back.
Him leaning forward.
Me kissing his forehead.
Me laying in the lower bunk.
A quick chat about this or that.
'Good night bub'
'Good night'
'Love you'
'Love you too'
Then off to dreamland.
Snores to follow -- often some of my own.
Then me, eventually, sneaking off to bed myself.
As the youngest of our three, I wonder when these days will come to an end.
For now, I'm here for as long as he'll have me.
Not digging too deep.
Not turning things over to look for an expiration date.
Milking them...for all they've got.
