The end of the school year is nearing and with this comes the graduation of my youngest son from pre-school. In September, he's off to the big school with his big backpack in the big bus with his big brother. He's excited and ready to go (wouldn't it be sad if he wasn't), but I find myself mourning the end of the baby years. Mind you, I am not mourning the all-nighters, diaper-trash, or jam-packed baby bags that I lugged everywhere the first 365 days of my sons' lives, but I am mourning the simple sweetness of babyness. Though this has been brewing for awhile, yesterday the feeling sideswiped me out-of-the-blue and in the middle of the day (I always tend to get nostaligic in the early morning before the boys are up or late at night once they're fast asleep). There we were, waiting at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill when a lady jogger (better described as a p.y.t) runs by, heading into the forest. Now, it's summer and it's hot (finally), so she was dressed like any normal sportswoman would be (running shorts and a sports-bra-top-thingamijig). There she was, minding her own business, running along her merry way when my innocent little babies spotted her bobbing along. The big one (smiling broadly) looked at the little one and the little one smiled a smile that said more than I wanted to know; all I could do was stand there thinking, "they're only BABIES". Nope. They're not. They're not babies anymore; they are little boys who notice little things that their little mommies aren't ready to see...

In celebration of little people (and the little things they noticed before the other little things).