I pull the doors apart, and step out on the deck, taking the view of the valley. I lean over the side, and as I stare at the slope below, I can almost hear the laughter. In my mind, I can see my husband at the bottom, grinning and calling to a not-quite-two-year-old Bear, as Bear launches himself and runs down the hill, teetering on the edge of losing control just as daddy scoops him up and spins about, and they both dissolve into giggles as they climb back the top of the slope, ready to do it all again. My 6-month-baby-belly bounces and the little feet inside kick as I laugh along with them.
I blink, and the memory recedes. Four years, and two lifetimes, since we were last in this very spot. And yet, it seems like just the blink of an eye. Then, it was a rainy, cold, blustery weekend. This weekend just past, it was a steamy, hot, 40 degree, blustery weekend. From a holiday with one-and-a-bit children, to a weekend on our own. The cheeky giggly toddler now an adorable loving six year old. That bump now a boisterous four year old. Their little sister two. Somehow, I must have forgotten not to blink.
And four years later, I realise, I never blogged the little project I worked on that weekend. I made vague reference to it in one of my first posts, but the finished product never made it. A library bag, for that little toddler, and now for his little brother and little sister. Nice and big, to fit our favourite oversized books. And before he loved Lego, before he loved Thomas, that gorgeous little Bear of ours, was head over heels in love with Maisy. And by head over heels, I mean completely obsessed. When Maisy came to town, we stalked her at the book shop, and he shook her hand, and then when she visited the local library, he sat patiently as the librarian read the group a Maisy story, and then, as Maisy walked in, his jaw dropped, and his eyes lit up. Maisy sat down, and 15 month old Bear, from a standing start, LEAPT over two rows of children to throw himself on Maisy’s lap. True love, as only toddlers can feel.
Today, that little man is school, Boy2 is at preschool, and Butterfly is asleep. I have a whole half hour with no housework requiring my attention. The house is quiet, the floors are clean, the washing is hung. My mama’s heart is heavy with memories of tiny boys and happy games. I’m thinking it is quite possibly time for some Downton Abbey and crochet. And reminding myself not to blink before another four years disappears without warning.