Every day I am witness to miracles. It is the same miracle over and over again but it never fails to fill me with wonder. Those moments between waking and sleep that pass over the faces of my boys as I cradle them in my arms or simply lie next to them; to help them calm down, surrender to rest. These spaces in the day are wondrous and peaceful, rich with the fullness of time. Each moment is stretching, each second overflowing with gentle beauty as my little three-year-old presses his head into my shoulder, pulls my arm to his chest and whispers "Oh my little mommy, you so soft my little mommy." His black lashed eyes lazily open and close beneath his nodding head of golden hair.
There are times when I am nursing the baby while he fights sleep, trying to turn his head, rubbing his dark round eyes, trying to push me away, but hungry enough to keep eating despite the sleep tugging at him, finally pulling him out of consciousness to slumber.
His big brother cuddles next to him, snuggling in closer "Oh Allen so cozy, so cozy" as he too drifts out of ceaseless motion into the world of dreams.