These are the days I’ll miss the most.
The longer days of spring and summer, when the sun peeks up slowly and reminds us that dark and cold don’t last forever.
The days when I drink a whole, hot cup of coffee on the deck, read part of a book, and appreciate the view before little feet start pitter-pattering.
I’ll miss the warmth of that sun — and the way it looks like butter melting over marshmallow puffs in the sky. I’ll miss the imagination — my imagination — the things I see and dream about before the kids even get out of bed.
I’ll miss the way I close my eyes and let my face bask in that glow, while I remember so many other moments as precious as this one — memories of brilliant days with family duets and road trips and vacations under God’s bright light. But mostly I’ll miss days just like this one — days overlooking the cornfields. Days in our own backyard.
I’ll miss saying prayers and being the “me-est” version of me I can be. Happy. At peace. All the cares in the world saved for a different day.
I’ll even miss the constant calls for me, the calls that come when the sun’s been up for an hour or so, the calls that suggest I’m important to these little people. They want to be with me, and I with them, so we can spend the morning together. And I’ll remember being thankful for even the small amount of time I’ve had to myself.
I’ll miss the mess of flour and eggs in the kitchen, even though I always fuss about it while the mess is being made. I’ll miss the breeze that flutters through the open window. I’ll miss that we let the mess sit, because we have better things to do on such a perfect day.
I’ll miss the dirty shorts and the muddy boots and the bug catchers and the frogs we hop around all afternoon to follow. I’ll miss picking flowers (especially the ones the kids gift to me) and the teensy peaches that our tree has been fighting so hard to grow.
I’ll miss making rivers for dinosaurs and drinking from the hose. I’ll miss the picnics on the hill. I’ll vaguely remember the sandwiches and chips and yogurts and fruit snacks that mostly go untouched. Because there is just too much fun to be had.
I’ll miss the t-ball in the yard and the soccer kick or two. I’ll miss the short attention spans that allow us to try something new every few minutes, to fit everything in.
I’ll miss hearing Jesus whisper to me through the rustle in the leaves and the songs of the birds.
I’ll miss the way the wind wraps around our giggles and refuses to let go, carrying them on, we pray, into the next generation and the one after that.
Because these days will eventually be memories. Traditions. Legacies of love.
Extraordinary days, indeed.
And, oh, how much I’ll miss them.