his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes

So much time goes by and I don't update this thing, and then I panic. I'm overwhelmed by a backlog of photos of my beautiful boys and memories from a few months back, last week and the day before yesterday that I have no idea where to start. Moments start to slip between the fingers of my brain, I can feel it happening, and I'm paralyzed.

Paralyzed by a fear that I'm forgetting everything. That childhood is so fleeting, and my god, they're almost ready to go to college, and I've barely taught them how to tie their shoes, comb their hair while it's still wet, fold their socks into little balls, gurgle, crack an egg with one hand, write a thoughtful note to someone who needs it, be kinder to strangers, arrange a bouquet, put up a tent, pop a wheelie, use a card catalog, bait a fishing pole, steam vegetables, build a proper fort, transfer a tomato seedling, castle a king, dive ferociously for a soccer ball, apologize with sincerity, dance like a goofball. 

There will never be enough time.


Tonight I folded clothes Ollie has outgrown and put them in neat little stacks for storage, thinking about how Cass outgrew those same clothes not long ago. I'm sure I cried then, too.