boys.

My boy walks down the stairs, crying. I look up at him and I see his lips, pooched out at me, getting ready to tell me something that is so very important. He has big, sloppy tears that are running down his cheeks and clinging to his long curly eyelashes. As I look at him, I see a size five toddler body and a going on seven attitude. He is wearing his pajamas, the same pair he has worn for the past two years. He calls them "blue jeans". In fact, they are Spiderman boxer shorts. I would never tell him any different.

I go to him, pick him up, and cuddle him in my arms. He is unable to fall alseep, he says, and Emma will not talk to him anymore. Can he have a drink? Can he lay with me? It is a school night, I tell him. He needs his rest. So I hug and kiss him, and take this moment to go back up the stairs, just one more time, and tuck him in tightly. This, I tell him, is what he needs just to sleep right. The one thing that is forgotten is Tad, his frog that he has had since he was a small boy. That will do the trick. So we find Tad, and I hug and kiss them both. And my boy drifts off to sleep.

Not so long ago, my other boy was always looking for a reason to stay awake. Ninjas would fly to his window. He couldn't find the stuffed bear he called his "sleeping partner". Now, this boy has scraggly hairs that are popping out on his face. He has the body of a young man. But sometimes, he will still come down the stairs after he has said his final good night, and he will wrap his big, long arms around my neck, and he will kiss me just one more time. And sometimes, I will go up to his room, and I will sit on the edge of the bed as he sleeps and I will listen to him breathe. If I close my eyes tightly, I still see the little blonde haired boy with a huge smile that was waiting for ninjas, looking for the lost bear, and trying to find any excuse that he could to cuddle in between his dad and myself.

Time is so short. And this time has went by so fast.