Getting you willingly out of the house this afternoon was a total win. You got a lot of cool stuff for your birthday, and you're pretty contented to just stay and play lately, but a ride to the bank with the promise of a lollipop was all it took. The teller sent us a "Mystery" pop (dreaded, in my book), and what do you know? We unwrapped a blue one. You kinda couldn't contain your excitement, "It's a blue one! I love lollipop! It's dewishus, Mama!" On the way there, we passed a GIANT bulldozer, a tiny bulldozer and a steamroller all "working hard," and your excitement for the lollipop is only matched by your amazement for heavy machinery, so instead of hurrying home to pack, make dinner, wrap presents, empty the dishwasher, move the clothes from the washer to the dryer and fold the other pile, we pulled over. We jumped out of the car, walked down the street and plopped down on the sidewalk to watch the construction.
We detoured for 10 minutes and then jumped back in the car and headed back to our list of to-do's. It's in these moments that I'm the mom I want to be. I'm the mom that I got to grow up with. The mom that's less worried about all the stuff and more interested in cherishing our time. Tiny memories that barely come back to me but are rooted firmly in my brain - climbing big rocks on the side of the road, feeding horses in random pastures, following a fire truck, stopping at every McDonald's on the way to Tulsa to collect miniature Beanie Babies, quick stops at Alamo park. I want Charlie to remember that we stopped, I listened and we took in this world around us together.
You snuggled in my lap crunching a lollipop and pointing out every move, noise and piece of machinery is how I'd keep you forever.
Note: Tiny moments. We're officially done with the month to month charting. These little details are what I'm afraid I'll miss the most.
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