This past week saw a few memorable milestones in our household. The first of which was Zeke's first day in 1st grade. He'd been ready for this day for weeks, asking me over and over when he was going to be OFFICIALLY a first-grader. The irony is that on the morning of said first day of school, it was all I could do to drag his butt out of bed! "I don't wanna go to school, Momma!" he whined. "Oh no," I said, "You're going!" This went on for almost 10 minutes, at which point I threatened to tickle him until he peed his pants. That seemed to work...the threat, I mean.
So we finally got ready, and he was more than happy to pose for a picture in the hallway. He's so darn stinking cute with his backpack on, but sometimes you just wanna smack 'em!
Then yesterday morning, Zeke was standing in our master bathroom chatting away, when all of a sudden his tooth fell out. Just dropped right out of his head! It wasn't a total surprise, mind you, since the thing had been flopping around for a few days now, only he wouldn't let me anywhere near it for fear that I might try and yank it out. (Moi??)
At least now he can show up to school minus two toofies. *grin* I remember those days though. Losing teeth at that age was like a rite of passage, the gateway into Tweendom (which of course didn't exist back in those days, at least not according to Webster's Dictionary). I know he was starting to get a little worried there for a while, when he was finishing up kindergarten and still had all his baby teeth in place. (Oh, the things kids worry about these days!)
Anyway, last but not least, little Gabe posed for a shot just moments after he came running into the kitchen to proclaim he had put his socks AND his shoes on by himself! On the right feet even! (Note to Reader: The tongue-sticking-out-at-any-given-photo-op trait is something he picked up from his dad, not me. I just felt the need to clarify.) I was pleasantly surprised, as this marks the beginning of that long road to independence that all babies strive toward, while us mothers shamefully try to hang onto our precious little tykes and preserve those days when we were absolutely EVERYTHING in their eyes. That was back when they couldn't do a darn thing for themselves and needed us for everything vital to life except breathing, sleeping, and filling a diaper. *sniffle*
I do jest. I'm thrilled that our baby's learning to do these things for himself. I was thrilled when his big brother learned to do them, too, because now life's just a tad bit easier when it comes to getting ready to leave the house in the morning. I'm not packing a diaper bag and prepping bottles of milk or formula, carrying snacks and bibs and burp cloths and wet wipes and toys and changing pads and powder and hand sanitizer and plastic bags for God only knows what and AT LEAST three changes of clothes for him...and me!
But I do have some fond MEMORIES of those days. :)
Time marches on, and kiddos grow up. It's life at its finest, and what else is there for Hubby and I to do but stand back and watch them do what God and the world intended for them to do? In the mean time, while we're standing by watching, we'll always be there to give them everything they'll need, to lend a hand when they need it or a shoulder to cry on, a good kick in the pants when warranted (though hopefully not often), and a word of advice during those times they'll need a little guidance.
Yep, I like my job. I'm in it for life, but it's probably the most rewarding thing I've got to show thus far. :)
