Okay. Back to our scheduled programming.
So, when he was born my mom passed the picture on to me. I think she said it was a loan, of sorts. When my brother has kids I'll pass it on to him, although, I'll probably have to take a picture of it and put it in a frame first. It hung over the crib when it was Garrett's and now it watches Matthew sleep. See, babies do grow up. Goodness, do they ever. I mean, just look at this one. He's practically off to college.And this one, the one who's cord I cut...
Well, he's 15 months old now which is nothing short of sheer madness, I tell you.
But the point, the point, is this. Cleaning and scrubbing can only be put off for so long. Take this afternoon for example. I got The Buddy into his bed for a nap and surveyed my surroundings. How, I ask, in all of kingdom come, can two tiny people cause so much destruction? My house looked like a nuc was detonated inside. Everywhere I looked was utter chaos. Yes, we're training them to clean up after themselves but apparently they take after their father who felt the need to play with all of his toys simultaneously. If I'd waited to clean it all up, waited until I wanted to, waited until I felt like I could take my eyes off of my children for 30 seconds and they wouldn't grow up while my head was turned, we would have had a serious situation on our hands. Mold, rodents, bugs, who knows.
Sigh. Babies grow up. They stop being tiny and fragile and sleeping all the time. They turn into sweaty boys who play outside all day long making bug habitats and trying to dig to China. They turn into toddlers who run circles around recliner chairs and leave toys in the strangest of places. If the definition of a baby is one that you can still rock, well, I'm past that stage with my sons. They didn't keep. They turned into men. Little men but men nonetheless.
And with those little men came mass destruction.
And with those little men went my whole heart.