Who Wore It Best?

I am delighted to tell you that we got an early start on our day this morning.

Precisely, we started at 4:53, when forty-seven pounds of raw muscle and enthusiasm jumped on me and asked, “What’s for breakfast?  I’m starving!”    Hubs later announced, “I blame you for this.  YOU are the morning person in this marriage, and YOU are the one who used to wake ME up, long before we had kids, so that we could get our day started.”

I told Hubs, “I used to wake you up at 7:30.  Not 4:53.”

“It’s the Lord.  He’s paying you back for all of MY early mornings.  7:30 in my book is as early as 4:53 in your book.”

MaMaw, in her elderly age, is no longer the morning person she used to be.  She has this fantasy now, where she gets to stay in bed, sound asleep, until the nursing staff comes to get her up, ’round about 9 AM, and get her into her dressing gown, so that she can be propped up in front of her television programs.  MaMaw doesn’t have hogs to slop or cows to milk, so 4:53 is a touch on the side of RIDICULOUS.

Needless to say, we had gluten-free blueberry muffins and copious amounts of hot coffee and cream for breakfast, while most of you were still in your REM stage.

Anyway.

A while back, Sister uncovered a bag of hand-me-down clothes that I had given her years ago, straight from the boy to her son, Cousin K.  Somehow, this bag had been lost beneath sleeping bags and Halloween costumes, and she never noticed it when she passed all of the stuff that boy of hers had outgrown on to others.  We never thought we’d have any use for size six, little boy clothing ever again, but the Lord had other plans, because BEHOLD!  Unto you a child shall be born, and he will get up early and streak your hair with gray and stand upon your kitchen counters like it’s a normal activity in polite society.  He will ice skate like Wayne Gretzky, scream like a lunatic whenever he sees a bee, and melt your heart with his brown eyes.  Oh!  And eventually you’re going to need size six, little boy clothes again.

Y’all, I’m just gonna tell you that this bag of hand-me-down clothes from the boy was a treasure to me!  I was ridiculously happy to pull items out of it that my firstborn had worn, so that my second son could wear them too.  The boy was a tiny runt of a little person, so Thing 2 is pretty much a full year and a half ahead of him in wearing this bag of stuff, because Thing 2 is not a tiny runt of a little person.  Thing 2 hits the 36th percentile for weight and the 40th percentile for height.  The boy never… not once… made it out of the 15th percentile for either height or weight.  Hubs and I feared that the boy would never be able to reach the top shelf in the kitchen cabinets as an adult, without a stepladder.  But… that kid surprised us… and he grew… a little.

Anyway.

I have a few snapshots of my children, wearing the same sweater and long sleeved T-shirt.

This is the boy… back when his feet were tiny and adorable and still smelled like baby lotion:

Oh, sweet mercy!  I’d pay a large chunk of money to go back in time and hold him once more when he was so little!

And then… years and years later… here is that Thing 2, who still has cute little feet that smell fresh and clean most of the time:

And then, here’s the boy, way back when, looking all fresh and pink-cheeked, with a new haircut:

And here’s Thing 2… in all of his own adorableness, and also with a fresh haircut:

And now, I need a Kleenex, because the boy is an inch away from turning eighteen and wrapping up his JUNIOR STINKING YEAR of high school, while MY BABY is four weeks away from finishing kindergarten.

I have no words, except for the old cliche that they really DO grow up when you blink.

 

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