For Mother's Day, Laurie came home from school with a whole packet of beautiful artwork. She promptly took one full of glitter and shook it all over the carpet. With quiet a bit of aggravation, I faked interest at the other pictures. Then I came to a picture of my hand-print with her tiny little one over it. And I was a bawling puddle of mush. Yes, the days are long, but the years are so terribly, achingly short.

I have spent the remainder of the week crying and wondering how much time I have left. How many more tea parties. Holding tiny hands. Mud pies. Pig tails. Wet kisses. Huckle, Corduroy, Goodnight Moon, Peter Rabbit, Snuggle Puppy, Nancy. Singing silly songs with silly hand motions. Hair bows.

After bath time, I cuddle Laurie in my lap, wrapped in a towel and wet headed and sing her hush little baby. Then, she sweetly begs, "Hush Little Baby, one more time!" And who could deny her when I know each night may be the last time she lets me?
I feel a tug at my pants and look down to see Anna Fair holding her arms up, pipping, "Up". I love a baby on my hip.
Or Laurie asking, "Momma, I need to snuggle with you." Sometimes for an hour, sometimes a minute.

The days can be so long, but the years are short.