Last night I found myself once again camped out on my little guy’s floor. Huddled under a thin blanket, time ticked slowly by as I waited over an hour for him to fall back to sleep.
There have been a few nights where I wondered, “Why am I doing this?”
But not last night.
Last night I thanked God that I got to spend that time with my son, and that both my babies were safe in their beds.
Playing Littlest Pet Shop seemed especially important today.
Fixing her hair for the 10th time so it would look “just right” — I treasured the chance.
And when my youngest wanted to play super heroes but spoke too quietly for Mamaw and Papaw to hear? I assigned them all their “bad guy” parts so he could play the hero. And I made sure he won every fight he had when he was up against me.
I am sure there are those who have wondered why I bother planning craft time with my kids, why I lug them in the stroller up and down a hundred hills at the zoo at least once a month, and why, even though I’d love to do the yoga class at the YMCA, I won’t, because I just can’t stand not being home for bedtime.
And this is why: tomorrow is not guaranteed for any of us.
I want my children to know, without a doubt, they they are loved. Every day.