Yesterday, the kids and I had to wait in our car for awhile. I was listening to the radio and they were doing...I did not know what they were doing, because I was not paying attention.
It was a few minutes before I realized that the noise from the back seat (which is constant) was not the usual pushing, whining and bickering. They were laughing.
I adjusted my mirror so I could watch. They were making silly faces at each other. One would "create" the face, the others would copy it. When they caught me looking, I had to play too. This was so much better than whatever was on the radio. Why don't I pay more attention?
It was getting warm in the car, and the windows fogged up so that we were in our own insulated world. Happy for no reason, except that we were together and acting silly.
At some point, all that happiness made me weepy. I sat in the front seat of my car, looking at my children in the rear view mirror, and I willed life to go in slow motion. Because, I knew. I knew that soon, the moment would be gone. Soon, we would have to get out of the car. Soon, they would grow up. Soon, sibling time may be limited to Christmas and funerals. Soon, my children won't be.
And sure enough, soon, they were back to their normal contentious backseat behavior. But, I hold on to that moment. I savor it. For me, of course, but also for them. Because they don't know what they're missing.
[The photo above was taken last summer]