Just when you think you might not make it, just when you think that one more day off might kill you, just when you feel that one more "idle" day of making tents and snacks and lunch and breakfast and messes and doing laundry and prying lost crayons from the puppy's mouth and calming down yet another tantrum and once again explaining the lack of favorite breakfast food despite rising protests and mopping up the muddy floor and catching another runny nose and hoping that one more cup of coffee might save you - just then, he says something like this:
"Mom, don't you just love this wonderful life we have together?"
His eyes gaze into yours and you know that you would gladly be the mother of a five year old and a three year old forever. You understand in a flash that this is all too fleeting and you regret your loss of patience and you remember your joy. You set down that worthless cup of coffee and you hug that boy, smarter at five than you are at 32, and you hug him with all of your might.
And later, when they run excitedly into their classrooms on the first day back after a week-long vacation, you miss them both like crazy and you can't wait for 11:20, when they will be back at your side with requests for tent making and crayon coloring and snacks and lunch. The kitchen floor suddenly looks quite lovely with the patina left behind by muddy boots. I would not trade this life for anything and it is, indeed, wonderful.
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