His math book torn and tattered from the years worth of learning 2+2.
His army men serve as his counters and sometimes I look over and he has traveled to the west
in his imagination and his guns are blazing and a man falls.
I can't help but to laugh.
Oh, the days I have him here are so short.
I get to hug him and be the first person to give him a great big
smile in the morning. I get to make him supper and
special treats. I get to be his one true love for such a short season and
then he will, Lord willing, one day marry and then my daughter in law
will get to do these things. If I look at my time with him as fleeting I'm not so
eager to put down that book. I'm not so willing to let someone else do for him.
I want to do it all. I want to breathe him in and not miss one opportunity
to show him how much I adore him. I want to be the one who teaches him to read.
I want to be his biggest fan and I am; I want him to know that I take my job
as his mother very seriously and it's a great honor to raise him up.
We close our books for the day and he hurries off and I'm left sitting at an
empty table with his men: always reminders to slow me down and enjoy
even the smallest of memories.
Robin, I've got something I need to share with you. Please give me a call when you can. 617-1306. Sorry, I don't have your e-mail address.
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