Reflecting on a chaotic Monday, I had a tender moment this morning with my son as he woke up. I sat beside him and watched his long eyelashes flutter, his rosebud lips part, and the soft curls on his head. He reached for my hand with that sleepy, trusting gesture, and for a few minutes everything felt angelic. Although his waking hours can swing between absolute delight and full-on “Calgon, take me away!” moments, his sleep is always pure sweetness.
Those quiet minutes make it easier to remember how fleeting childhood is. Having older children—nineteen and sixteen—reminds me daily of how fast they grow, and I cherish my role as a mother. Still, when parenting becomes relentless and problems pile up, weariness sets in. You can promise yourself you’ll savor each moment, but the day-to-day grind can blur that intention.
Then you see that sweet, sleeping face and suddenly Monday’s chaos feels small. A missing shoe becomes insignificant. I feel steadier today, ready to face whatever comes. A photo like the one I found on Pottery Barn Kids brought back memories of his baby days and made me teary—those firsts, the sleepless nights, the messes and the tender moments all wrapped together. It’s a beautiful way to hold onto memories without rushing ahead.
Right now he is seven, and our conversations center on soccer championships, trophies, bugs, bodily functions and superheroes. He’s loud, dramatic and full of fun. Today I’ll sort through his room to prepare for a new school year, pulling out shoes and jeans that no longer fit—items I could swear were just right yesterday. In these moments I try to pause and treasure him being seven, knowing these small stages pass all too quickly.
Parenting is a mix of ordinary frustrations and unforgettable tenderness. The days can feel long, but looking back, the years are brief. Those quiet mornings when a child reaches for your hand as he wakes are reminders worth holding onto—simple, ordinary, and profoundly meaningful.