There are some moments I like to call remember me moments. They're ordinary, simple, everyday occurrences that for some reason, stick in your brain become something special. Moments like the the way the steam curled around your coffee as you clutched the cup with cold fingers, or how you said the same thing as someone else and both started laughing because of it.
I had a remember me moment yesterday. Sam woke up from his nap, his eyes tired and hair hot, and as I picked him up, he nestled his head in my shoulder and I rocked him. For a few minutes, he was just content to be there, just resting in my arms. I closed my eyes and rubbed his back and fiercely told myself, "you remember this. remember this when he is tall and grown up and the minutes when he was the baby are just dusty memories. you remember this."
Last night was another one. The day turned to dusk before our eyes, and Caleb and I stood outside in the wind, with the world flying around us. Just a regular old Tuesday. We ran around the backyard like crazy, grinning and laughing (always, laughing). And I felt that tug in my heart and thought again, "remember this." Someday this freckly faced boy will be a man. And I want to remember him always as he was, and at the same time, embrace who he's becoming. Remember this. This is my crazy boy, who eats spaghetti silly, who creates the most creative lego sets, who has the most incredible memory, and who is him. Caleb. My brother.
A boy who I love very much.