Hands

Ambyr says she loves little feet. She takes amazing pictures of them. And I almost can get behind it, but not quite. For me it is all in the hands. The little ones, big ones, soft ones, callosed ones. And what my kids don't know is that every night after they are asleep when I am finally shutting down the house, lights, and locking doors for me to go to bed, I stop in each of their rooms to hold their hands.

The soft light provided by the night lights give the appropriate hushed atmosphere. My quiet and unmoving children give a gentle lullaby with their heavy, sleepy breathing. And I watch for a moment knowing that they won't be young forever, and that they won't stay still for an even shorter time. And that is when I pick up each hand, examine how it is so small, but growing with each day and month. I see the scrapes from the days playing, I see the leftover dessert on Issac's hands, and other clues to the little lives they lead. I get so hypnotized by their hands. They are so soft and warm. I treasure this moment with them. It is only made better by the fact that once I get in bed, it is the hand of the greatest love of my life whose I fall asleep holding. To all the hands in the world, big, small, callosed, soft, I love to look at you.