We would go to the park, we would go on walks, we would do puzzles, we would have play dates.
I took them to classes, activities - even gave them naps and yet that hour before Daddy came home still seemed eternal.
My youngest boy turned 5 today. Happy Birthday, Lincoln!
Time has gone fast.
Now they aren't my little boys, they are my big boys. They dress themselves, carry things, ride their bikes - they can even make themselves breakfast. They help their sisters and help their mom.
And no longer are the days long.
At the end of every day I find myself wishing for more time.
More hours. More minutes.
And even though it surprises me to say it, I am not just craving more time after they go to bed- although that would be nice too.
Today I didn't fit in time to play catch with Deacon. I wish I had an extra 15 minutes for that.
I didn't have a chance to get Everyn into the bathtub or to search for an exersaucer for her.
I wish I had 10 more minutes to have a tea party with Berean, and to have done a puzzle with her.
It was Lincoln's birthday, but I didn't have time to sit and cuddle with him reading his favorite stories again and again.
I would have liked to hang with Roman, listening to the new Odyssey on the radio.
But I didn't have time.
I didn't have time to run this evening or to go to the Y.
I didn't get my whole garden planted, or to fix the garage door.
It wasn't that we didn't do anything.
We worked on school this morning.
I read them books. I did laundry. I fed them.
We delivered Meals on Wheels
The boys drew. I admired their work.
We played outside. We worked outside.
We played with the neighbors.
I pushed people on the swing.
We went out to supper. We talked and ate.
I played at the park with the little ones.
We watched Deacon play baseball.
We talked some more about the day.
They went to bed.
I wish there was more time.