When it’s this warm, after days of rain, after days of winter’s last stand, a warm and sunny day demands us, commands us, compels us outside. The yellow bells have been blooming for a week, and the green underneath will soon overwhelm the yellow much like the heat of the coming summer will overwhelm the beauty of merely warm days like today.
The warmth of summer isn’t the only thing we catch a glimpse of today, though. The Boy glances at me when I call his name, and as I’ve managed to do several times with the Girl, I catch an instant in which we can see hints of what he’ll look like as he grows older.
It’s inevitable, of course, but sometimes, like all parents, we just want to keep him at this perfect little age. And keep L at her perfect little age. That’s one of the oddities of being a parent: when you’re that close to the growth, seeing it constantly, it’s easy to forget that a given child hasn’t always been this age, hasn’t always been just this charming in this particular way.
Hasn’t he always been eager to “help”? Hasn’t he always been madly repeating every single phrase he hears, with his bubbling, often-near-miss pronunciation? Won’t he always love to swing?
