There they go.

One of Scrunch's favorite and most frequent saying is, "I'm growing uup. Riiight no-ow!"

I don't know where she got it or how it started, but she is right.

Porkchop took three steps today and then later while changing his diaper Scrunch asked me why he had "that special type of bum." Oy. I am not ready for this.

The subject of their growing up is one I'm consistently conflicted about. When I got a call last Tuesday afternoon that we would have unexpected company we hardly ever see for the rest of the week and through the weekend, we made it our mission to pack the days full of fun. It was so exhausting I had to escape to work for two days just to get a break!

Friday evening on our way out of the Yosemite valley I mentioned to John how much fun these types of outings were going to be when our kids weren't as much work anymore. Like when they both could walk more than ten paces and faster than the snails.

For every mess I pick up, three more are made. You can kiss matching lids to any Tupperware good bye! And when Porkchop took his diaper off in the kitchen for the third time, I left it off. Not three minutes later he crapped in the family room, I think just because he could. Who knew parenting would involve so much cleaning up of poop?! There are days my body physically aches with exhaustion. Please no one jump on me again, climb on me, in fact, I love you, but could everyone just stop touching me for three seconds?!

These are not complains, it the reality of parenting everyone just kind of glosses over. And sometimes how I feel about it is conflicting. So often we are sent conflicting messages.

"...the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three on them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in a hurry to get on to the next things: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less." 
— Anna Quindlen

I read this and it pulls at me. I am terrible at this and so I make an effort to take notice a little more. Slow  down. It's not going to kill me. If I slow down I am not going to stop, right? So I try it, and realize there is a trick to it. It is all about timing.

11:28 am. Porkchop is screaming like a banchee because he thinks I should automatically hand him my phone when it rings. Scrunch is ironically whining that she, "can't stand all this whining!" Both kids need a bath. They ate cottage cheese and berries for breakfast as evidenced by the kitchen floor the dogs are racing to clean up. Porkchop smells like poopy diaper and stale graham crackers. Scrunch's hair is greasy from slathering Eucerin cream through it for the umpteenth time.

Bag it! This isn't working!

12:16pm. Scrunch is singing in the shower. I hear her talk to her imaginary friend Charlie about making good choices or bad choices. Porkchop is climbing all over me in the recliner in a super ticklish mood. He is trying to tickle me with his chubby fingers but can't catch his breath he's laughing too hard. His laugh sounds less and less like a baby and more like a little boy. His little face is looking less and less like a baby and more like a little boy. He stand on my lap and kisses my shoulder three times and this time without biting me a single time.

Here is the trick. Not every parenting moment is noteworthy. Everyone might say it's the most rewarding job you'll ever do, and while true, it may be days between your feeling like it. The catch is that the reward to the scouring of so much poop and ignoring the whining comes in tiny little slivers. So small you'll miss them if you're not careful. Little moments you'd trade your whole life for.

I know it's true because I almost cried picturing Scrunch holding her thumb out like this in a few years trying to catch the bus. Not out hiking with her Mom and Papa in Yosemite, but on her way to who knows where and heaven for bid to meet some boy.