these are magic years...
and therefore magic days...
and therefore magic moments.
There is something just so special about time spent together, with just one... whether it be him, or her. And when these slivers of time come 'round, I recognize them for what they are... precious gifts, molten love, sweet memories in the making. So I let the rest of the world wait in line, and I slow the race of life that seems to chase endlessly after ever bit of energy I can spare... and I marvel at the smallest things. The way he sits up straighter to avoid the glaring sunshine, our matching cravings for Italian ice and tacos. The way his hands are no longer small and his legs no longer those of a little boy. He comes around the corner and asks if there is anything I want help with and we work together in the kitchen side by side, completing the job in half the time. He picks up my dropped keys and jokes that he'll just drive. Oh, not much longer and he will.
The days of little are far behind us. They held their own magic, and their own sorrows. But the growing doesn't stop and neither does the marvelous. When he was six months old, that was my favorite age. And when he was eight, that was my favorite age. And now, at fourteen and a half... I feel it again, as I seem to every year.
Oh, this is my favorite age.