The days are moving along, and I usually wonder how I got myself into this situation, where each part of the day is punctuated by some child or other's tears, laments and screams.  I have to stop myself, and remember to speak to the nice person struggling inside this, seemingly, manic, and most certainly confused person.  I think that if I keep speaking to that person, that is the person that will emerge on the farther shore of their strife, and struggle.

Those fine boys do live in my home and I do sit with those reasonable people, from time to time.  I hope that these boys become those interesting and collaborative people in their future, for their most part.  I am looking forward in my response to them, looking forward to confident men who can understand compassion, and true acceptance of all people, regardless of their appearance, and purely on the "content of their character".

As I look forward, I am also mindful to drink in the moment of the now.  It won't be long before knowing the finest moments of living with toddlers and small little men will be a memory, nearly unfathomable.  I have always tried to be mindful of the fleeting nature of time, and the permanence of family.  We will always be a family, but we won't always be so young.  I try to remember that getting older is not the goal, but getting better is what is important.  Getting better means understanding one another better, trusting one another better, caring for one another better, enjoying the company of one another better.

In getting better, I have to be mindful that little kids' freak-outs are not directed at me, per se. It is directed at a lost expectation, that seemingly small to myself, is intrinsic to their understanding of fairness and equality.   In getting better, I have to remember that these days, these busy days, will be a memory of fondness, and love that begins to slip into the fog of time gone by.