the other half of my heart

I've dedicated the lion's share of my writing here to discussing my Little Guy, and there is good reason for that.  The challenges presented by having a special needs child sometimes compel me to drink write.  I'd like to think I don't just blog to whine, but the truth is that when the good times are rolling I'm far less likely to take the time to write.

Today it is neither my special needs son nor whining that is burning on my mind -- it is my youngest son, heretofore referred to as "Baby Boy".  He is 3 now and insistent that he is neither a baby nor a little boy, but in fact a big boy.  I'm going to let him win this one - "Big Boy" he is now.

Earlier this week I picked Big Boy up from preschool.  His teacher dismissed him and he emerged from his classroom like a miniature man in jeans and a little backpack.  It hit me, and hit me hard, how quickly his childhood is passing, like sand slipping through my fingers.  I feel like we somehow haven't been doing enough.  That is one of the beauties of preschool though -- preschool is in many ways a celebration of being little and enjoying all the things that at that age inspire wonder.  I am so thankful that Big Boy gets to be a part of that celebration, and that he has this time away from home when he is Big Boy first and not a little brother.  He gets to be a shining star, all on his own and it suits him well.