Tuesday, October 7, 2008
I took the kids for a walk on Sunday afternoon. While Sommer, Ethan and Tate raced ahead playing a wondeful make believe game, Ashton and I took up the rear. He asked to hold my hand since he kept "getting tripped by mean sticks" (roots). So there we were in a quiet little forest nestled in a bustling area, holding hands. I thought how quickly children out grow the wonderful stage of hand holding, replacing it quickly with friends and other more "cool" things. But I still have a hand holder who is content walking along, with his Mom, seeing two deer that obviously had been scared off by the kids up ahead on the trail who were playing loudly, talking about simple things in a day where simple isn't so easily recognized. I can't believe his small hands will someday be out grow mine and be strong like his father's. And then he will have the opportunity to hold a small hand and understand the feeling I had when I held his little one.