tell me who you are

Motherhood is such a strange thing at times. Parenting in general really.

In one second, you're absolutely in love with the little humans you've created. Then in the next second, you're wondering what you could have done so wrong to cause them to tell their teacher that they hope that someday, she can be their new stepmom.

(True story. Josh and I have been married for 9 years now, only ever to each other, and Raegan told her teacher last year that she was the most beautiful lady she's ever seen, and hopes that she could be her stepmom some day. Thankfully we all had a good laugh at her parent teacher conference the following week.)

But really though, funny stuff aside, raising little people is hard. I'm sure there are some perfect mothers out there that might beg to differ, but in my experience, it's tough. I'm constantly questioning if what I am doing is the "right" thing. I am tired. There are moments of painful defeat and exhausted surrender. But the saying goes, often times the hardest seasons are the ones that produce the most fruit.

Every now and then though, you get an epic win. Moments that are catalysts into the next day. Moments of goodness that you are able to hold onto on particularly rough days.

Today my kids gave me one of those moments.

Every morning when my kids get out of the car for school, I ask them who they are.

Raegan responds, "I am Raegan Davis. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I am a daughter of the King and NOBODY can take that away from me.

Harvey responds, "I am Harvey Davis. I am brave and kind. I am a defender of people."

This morning right before they got out of the car, Raegan asks, "What about you mommy?"

I was confused.

"Mommy, who are YOU?"

Taken a bit aback and in a time crunch, my brain froze.

So Raegan says, "You are Samantha Davis. You persevere through everything. You are strong and brave. You can do ANYTHING."

I was speechless.

So Harvey says, "Mommy! You HAVE to say it!" Raegan agrees, "Yeah mommy! Come on! Who are you?"

So I say, "I am Samantha Davis. I persevere through everything. I am strong and brave. I can do anything."

I catch a glimpse of Raegan in the rearview mirror, she's beaming.

Then Harvey says, "Yeah. That's my girl!" And we all laugh.

Some days motherhood is hard. A continuous self sacrifice that forces you to go against your basic human needs in order to benefit your little ones. There are days where you feel like you’ve failed completely. Days you wish you could redo, moments you wish you could take back. There are days of tears, pain, and “You’re the worst mommy ever!”

But then there are days that redeem. Days that heal. Days and moments you wish you could relive over and over. Moments that remind you that you maybe aren’t doing such a bad job after all. Days where you look into your little humans’ eyes and believe that you deserve the title of “my favoritest mommy ever.”

If you’re having a hard mom day, it’s okay. Give yourself some extra grace today. I think often times when we are trying so hard to raise good humans, we often forget that we are only human ourselves. Your kids don’t need your perfection, they just need you. YOU. YOU are their momma for a reason, because YOU were meant for them, and they for you.

Praying today that amongst the diapers, crying, sibling fights, homework frustrations, spilt juice, spit up in your hair, watching the same episode of Daniel Tiger for the 20th time, wondering if today will be the day you get to shower without an audience, toddler tantrums and preteen eye rolls, that today you’d get a moment that reminds you that you’re doing a good job. Something to hold onto on those really really hard days.

And if that doesn’t happen today, I hope that these words find you and encourage you. That they bring you hope into tomorrow. You’ve got this momma, just keep showing up and doing your best.

I love you

Our daughter believes she is beautiful, smart, worthy. She walks through life confidently, even when kids at school try to tell her she’s not enough. She is silly and weird, she loves who she is. She’s not afraid to try new things, to be goofy in public, to march to the beat of her own drum.

Our son fiercely defends those around him. He doesn’t know a stranger and strikes up conversation with everyone he meets. He has the ability to really SEE people, never writing anyone off easily. He is strong, loyal. He is hilarious, always trying to make people laugh. He’s handsome to boot.

They are the best parts of you.

I love them both more than I ever thought possible. When I feel like I’m failing, you tell me I’m enough. When I’m at the end of my rope, you step in with patience and gentleness. You rescue when it’s right and you let us learn when it’s necessary. You work hard to care for us, giving me the freedom to be home with them. Parenting with you has been the most amazing adventure.

I am the mother I am because of the husband you are. They are the goofy, smart, confident children they are because of the father you are. All of this is because of the man you choose to be, everyday.

I love you. We are so lucky that you are ours.

five

In the last 2 weeks he's scrapped both elbows while scootering, skinned his knee (twice), got a rope burn on his neck from trying to do a flip on one of those spider web looking things at the park, split his chin open from diving into a kiddie pool (and removed the glue they use to close it 3 hours after we left urgent care), and at one point, had me convinced he might have a concussion from a separate scooter accident.

He has also bent the curtain rod in his room from trying to "be a monkey" on his curtain, covered out lighter colored dog in mud so that she would "look like our other dog," found chewed gum at a mall and proceeded to play with it, and colored all over my white countertops, just to name a few.

He's also shared every snack he has with his sister, even the good stuff like cookies and brownies. He's told me I'm pretty at least 20 times. When he sister gets out of the car for school, he yells, "Raegan! Remember you're fab-lee-ous!" He'll hold the door for strangers forever, literally I have to peel him away sometimes. He won't enter a building first if there is a girl with him, "Please mam, ladies first!" He strikes up conversations with strangers, asking them who they are, where they come from, and making sure to point out the parts of their story that he thinks are super cool. He cries for hours when TV characters lose friends or animals get hurt, he's still heart broken over what happened to the dinosaurs.

He is the more mischievous child I know. Constantly causing me to questions everything I know about being a parent. Keeping me on my toes, trying to learn new and interesting ways to teach and discipline.

But he has also taught me so much about what it means to love people. REALLY love people. He sees others in a way that I don't think most choose to. He looks beyond the surface and really digs, he wants to KNOW people and I've seen so many light up and breathe easier in his presence. He has one of the kindest, most compassionate hearts I've ever known in a child and has an understanding for empathy that I don't think I've even accomplished yet in my adult years.

I am so thankful, honored really, to get to be this dude's momma. I am excited to watch him grow and continue to learn from him. He has been one of the greatest gifts to our family and I am so excited to celebrate him today at his preschool promotion! Kindergarten, we're coming for ya!

pretty

There's just something about little boys and their mommas.

This morning Harvey came into my room as I was waking up, he leans in close to my face and says, "Good morning! You look pretty!"

I strolled over to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair hasn't been washed in 3 days, pillow wrinkles on my cheek, and yesterday's sweatpants and baggy t-shirt. And yet, "You look pretty!"

I often pray for his future wife.

That she would understand the tenderness in his heart and not mistake it for weakness. That she would be strong and wise yet still willing to lean on him. That she would always encourage him to be better without tearing him down. That she smiles when he looks at her and never tires of being told she's beautiful, because I have no doubts that he'll tell her as often as she'll accept it.

And then I stop thinking about it, because the idea of my baby boy being a husband is one of the few things in the world that can make me cry.

That, and The Time Traveler's Wife.

Deep breath

He might have missed the focus. He might have shot this completely under exposed (hooray for RAW). But when I look at this image, none of that is important.

What I see is a husband who knows that photography sparks a light in me. A man who knows how deeply I love these children, despite how much I’ve been struggling recently. ”Can you take a picture of us?” He smiled and grabbed my camera.

Truth is, this season isn’t my favorite. It’s been tougher than I imagined it would be. But I knew that if I handed him my camera, I’d be able to see myself through his eyes. And that’s exactly what happened.

I see grace. I see love. I see joy. I see beauty. I see two kids who are loved and happy.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget why I ever picked up my camera in the first place. Then there are images and moments like this one.

My soul took a deep breath tonight.

Proud

Last night I cried to my husband about how I feel like I’m failing our kids.

He pulled me in close and reminded me to celebrate the wins. Often times we get stuck in a cycle of trying to be better. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to continue to grow and to strive for more. But when that desire causes you to look past the current successes, when it takes away your celebration and replaces it with guilt and condemnation, it’s time to stop, take a step back, breathe, and take in your surroundings.

I’d share a place where I felt like I was lacking, he’d counter with a gentle reminder of where we were a year ago, six months ago, even a week ago. Sometimes the greatest success comes in simple perseverance.

And at the end of the conversation, you want to know what he credited as my greatest win? Our kids are happy and healthy. Our kids love me. He pulled me in a little tighter and said, “And I love you. And I am so proud of you.”

It’s amazing how much healing and relief lives in such simple words. It was like a deep breath that fills you from the bottom up.

So mommas, I may not know you. I may not know where you are in your journey. But just keep going. Keep persevering. Keep trying. Your babies love you. And you know what? I’m proud of you.

Ouchies and dirt

Always covered in ouchies... And dirt.

His curiosity and adventurous nature are often a recipe for disaster. He'll try/do anything once. Actually, he'll usually try things over and over again, even if he doesn't turn out as he imagined it would. I think in his mind, if he approaches whatever it is differently each time, then eventually it's bound to work out.

This includes all of those dangerous things that people often say, "just let it happen, they won't do it again." Nope. Not Harvey. He won't ever admit defeat.

Which then leads to more bumps and bruises than I can count, scraped elbows and knees, and that sweet handsome face often covered in some sort of boo boo.

I am thankful for his courageous nature though. For his need to act without hesitation. For his wandering and curious mind. He asks the best questions and provokes a bravery in all of us that did not exist before he showed up.

Often times I find myself frustrated with his seemingly destructive behavior. But then I remind myself, we just have to shape and mold that recklessness into boldness.

And maybe a hint of self-preservation...

Because I don't want to forget

How did we pick out our Christmas tree this year? This little guy, who the kids named “Sleepy,” was sitting near the very top, all by his lonesome.

We set him loose on a nearby bush and took “Sleepy’s Tree” home with us.

Notes for his girl

My husband my and daughter have a special relationship. They are very similar. They think the same. They get each other.

I thought it would be fun to give you a bigger glimpse into my world. I asked my husband to write a little note to Raegan for her birthday and asked him if I could share it here. It’s far greater and more special than anything I’d have come up with.

So here’s my favorite person writing a little love note to one of my other favorites. Our unicorn loving little girl is seven today, I can barely believe it.

“Not much in this world scares me. I’ll get up in front of people and talk. Most people my age are afraid of teenagers, and rightfully so, but they are my people. Sure, I don’t like spiders. Or birds. Or really anything that crawls or flies at my face. But they don’t really scare me.

Being a daddy though? Being YOUR daddy? That scared me. You can see it, in those first few pictures of me holding you. It was like someone put a warm water balloon made of tissue paper in my arms, and I had to somehow not crush it. I was terrified baby. So scared I was gonna mess things up.

As you grew, I learned about you. I knew I wouldn’t know everything out the gate, but what surprised me was the process of getting to know YOU. I kinda just assumed you were my kid, so I’d know you. And to be fair, you and I are a lot alike. We drive your momma crazy in the same ways. We laugh at the same things. Our brains process the same way. So in the moments when you’re overwhelmed and mom can’t wrap her brain around why, I can step in and say ‘I get it.’

Today you’re 7. Which is a big deal for you, but baby it’s a big deal for US. We get to know each other better every day. And just when I think I can’t love you any more, you say something goofy that makes me roll on the floor. And just when I think I can’t do this job that I’ve been given to be your daddy, you give me the grace I need that reminds me we were chosen for each other.

So happy birthday baby. And high five. Cause we’re killing this thing.”

Santa should make you happy too

Yesterday we took the kids to dinner with my parents and then we all went to see the new Grinch. Harvey was sitting next to me and doing his best to stay entertained with the movie. He loved it, but sitting in one spot for over an hour was starting to get to him. One can only stuff a child with so much candy and popcorn before it stops working.

Anyway, if you’re not familiar with the movie, there’s a part where Cindy-Lou asks Santa to do something special for her mom because she “works so hard for their family” and she “just wants her to be happy.” Harvey starts to say something to me, no hint of whisper in his voice. I, of course, shush him and tell him to sit back on his bottom. Instead, he grabs my arm, leans into my ear, and whispers, “That’s like you mommy. You work so hard a lot. Santa should make you happy too!” I just looked at him, not sure what to say. Sweeter words have not come from the mouth of that 4 year old boy, at least not recently. He smiles at me, then proceeds to attempt to do a somersault in his chair.

I’ve spent the better part of this week rushing my kids along, kicking them out of my office, and running out the door to sessions before they notice so as not to cause unnecessary drama. I did not deserve those words. I didn’t deserve that grace. And yet, without even realizing, he encouraged his momma’s heart and left me without words. It’s like he knew exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.

Today is for them. No school, no work. In fact I’m still in my PJs and we are watching another movie this morning. At some point today, I’ll probably try to clean the house. But right now, with a kid under each arm, I am happy. I guess Christmas came early.

Notes for my girl

Today is your first day of 1st grade.

You were nervous. You aren't a huge fan of change and you love to know every detail of the day before anyone's even eaten breakfast. But you were ready.

When I asked you what you were most excited to learn this year, before I could even finish the sentence you exclaimed, "SCIENCE. Because I wanna use those tube things to make stuff happen." Whatever that even means.

You listed off a few friends you knew would be in your class, and then said that you were also excited to make some new friends this year.

Your main goal for today though? To "not fall off the monkey bars and have to go to the nurse the first day like I did last year."

I love you and I am already so proud of you. I hope you always know that.

The Chin

I remember the first time I caught a glimpse of that chin. It was the very first thing I noticed about you. You had plenty of other notable features. But that chin, it's the first memory I have of you earthside.

You came in a dramatic fashion.

2 weeks of early labor. Every single night I'd bounce on that labor ball, walk the halls of our home, sit in hot showers to ease my back pain, and play a mental game of "is this really it this time."

We went to the hospital 3 times. 3 TIMES. They'd hook me up, note my pain, and ask me to walk the halls until I progressed. Each time the nurses would say, "You're in labor, we see the contractions, but you aren't progressing, so we've got to send you home."

And each car ride home I'd cry and cry and cry because since your sister was 2 weeks early, carrying all the way to 40 weeks felt like an eternity.

I was a hot mess. Locked in my house because my patience had reached dangerously low levels. Living in the bare minimum of clothing because it broke 100 the week you finally decided to show up.

On your birthday, your daddy left to go get me the breakfast I'd been craving for weeks. That poor man had reached survival mode and was willing to do just about anything to get me to stop complaining.

The garage door shut. And I knew.

I immediately called your dad to get him to come back, but he figured he had some time, so he continued on his way. He ended up at Dutch Bros, and if you know Dutch Bros, you know the line was 20 minutes long. So by the time he returned, I was in total panic.

We called all the grandparents and sent your sister off, grabbed our bag, and hopped in the car.

I was terrified. Not of labor. Not of pain. Not of birth. But of having them turn me away again. I told your daddy that they'd have to drag me out kicking and screaming this time, because I wouldn't leave unless you were in my arms.

10 hours later, you were born. All of our plans went flying out the window. You were all tangled in your cord and you weren't breathing.

I was scared. Everyone in the room was moving so quickly but for me, everything happened in slow motion.

I waited for you to cry. Your sister came out wailing. You should have been crying. I waited.

I waited more. I kept looking over at where they had you, but I couldn't see over all of the nurses.

I waited.

Your daddy was with you, I could see the look on his face. He was scared.

We waited.

And then you let out the sweetest sound my ears have ever heard. You cried. And cried. And cried. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I heard your voice.

Shortly after, they brought you over to me. And there it was. That chin dimple.

Deep and prominent. I looked up at your daddy and asked him where the heck it came from. To which he reminded me that he also has one, but I've just rarely ever seen it buried under his beard.

You had black hair, a dark complexion, a perfect little nose, and were creeping towards 10 pounds. You didn't fit in newborn diapers and I they had to send someone to go find you an outfit that would fit. I studied your every detail while you wailed in my arms, but my eyes always came back to that chin.

The chin. I fell in love with that chin and it is still to this day one of my favorite things about you.

Savor the moments

Have you ever looked at your children and were overcome with both great joy and sadness? Maybe sadness isn’t the right word. But it’s almost like... like you miss them already. If that makes sense.

I was watching my boy the other day. Dancing to his favorite song, cracking himself up as he wiggled his booty in the air. I laughed with him, my cheeks sore as I beamed at his silly personality. Then in that same moment, there was a sense of mourning. At first I was confused by it. There was no need for those feelings. But as I thought a little more I realized why. That moment, like many others in his childhood, would soon be fleeting. And someday, that silly booty shaking little boy would be a teenager, a husband, a father.

These moments of daily, unexpected laughter would become days of phone conversations or watching my son’s life via some social media app. And yes, there will be many more memories to treasure between now and then, and that season will bring a joy all its own.

I know by now you’re probably thinking, “Wow Sam, back it up. He’s only 4!” But think about it! How many times have you cradled your babies in your arms as they drifted to sleep and wished that moment would remain forever?

But this isn’t meant to be some sad depressing post. But rather a reminder. Savor those moments friends. Trust me. TRUST ME. These days are LOOOONG. We’ve definitely been feeling it recently. But these years, they disappeared before my eyes. And document your days friends. The little moments that might not seem like much at the time. Document them. Write down the memories. Take allll the pictures.

This image right here? When he goes to college, you better believe I’ll sit in his room and weep over it for a while. But right now, I’m going to focus on that great great joy. I’ll tell the sadness of the future to leave me be and instead of wishing time would slow down, I’m going to pray that I’m able to remember every single one of these seemingly mundane moments.

So here’s your PSA for today. Hug your babies, document your days. Put down your phone and just watch them be little. I hope you feel great joy today.

Notes for my Girl

When you were littler every night when I’d tuck you in, I’d whisper in your ear “You are fearfully and wonderfully made and a daughter of the Most High.”

Somewhere along the way I stopped doing that. Not sure why. Honestly when your brother showed up, bed time started to feel like a chore and I probably got lazy.

But it’s still my prayer. That you’d grow up confident in who you are both on the inside and the outside. I hope you always smile when you look in a mirror and that the voice of the world would be silenced by the truth that you know in Jesus. That you won’t spend years throwing yourself at different boys hoping one of them would find you beautiful.

But instead that you fall so in love with the Lord, even as a little girl, that you’d never once doubt your self worth. I hope your laughter always comes from somewhere deep and that your eyes always sparkle when someone tells you that you’re pretty. That you are always as confident in who you are as you are today.

When I shout “remember who you are” as you get out of the car for school every morning, you always turn back with a smile and giggle as you say, “Yeahhh mommy, I know I know.”

You are a gift, little girl. I’m so thankful that you’re mine.

The Details

Do you ever take time to study the details of your kids’ faces? I remember back when they were itty bitty babies. Hours of nursing led to hours of staring at their tiny faces. Noticing eyelashes, eyebrow patterns, dimples, birthmarks, and so on.

But as they have gotten older, maybe it’s just me, but it’s rare that I just stare at their faces for long periods of time. Partly because these days it’s rare that they sit still long enough. And when I do stare for longer than a couple seconds I get, “Uhh... Mommy... Are you okay?” But as I was editing a few pictures I took of them the other day, it felt like I was seeing them in a new light.

Ever since she was a baby, Raegan has always crinkled her nose when she laughs. Somewhere along the way I stopped appreciating those sweet little wrinkles. And those freckles. She’s got just a sprinkle of my freckles. But they are there and summer brings them out, just like it does mine. She’s always begging me to let her wear lipstick (she loves makeup) but she doesn’t realize her lips are so perfectly pink, she doesn’t need it. And those lashes. They might not be the longest, but they are thick and full, like her daddy’s.

There’s not a hint if baby left in that face. I remember staring at her as she slept in my arms and wondering what she’d look like as she got older. And now that’s she’s older I look into her face and I wonder if those crinkles and freckles will follow her into adulthood. One thing’s for sure though, she is beautiful and the joy in her heart radiates in her smile. And I hope that’s something she takes with her through every part of her life.

Notes for my Boy

My son.

You have an awareness of the world, a burden in your heart for the hurting and broken, and you are only 4 years old.

Ever since you were a tiny baby, people would tell me that you had peace and light in your eyes. Knowing eyes. Gentle eyes. Kind eyes.

You came into our world when we were our most broken. You were the laughter and peace in our home through many months of pain and dissension.

My prayer is that you never lose your love for and trust in people. All people.

That your first instinct is to always hug the stranger, and that you never stop asking why when you see people without a home or a family.

Sometimes we are called to be loud and to speak boldly, and sometimes strength comes in silence. Though I know you are capable of both, I pray that you're never tempted to be something you're not in an attempt to please others.

The world will want to define your manhood. Convince you that who you are isn't enough. Trust your gut. Lean into Jesus and let his voice be louder than the rest. You are enough. Your gentleness is a gift. Your ability to find the good in anyone and every situation is not ignorance, it's grace.

You're only 4 years old, but in that short time you've taught me so much. I get excited when I think about your future and when I contemplate the plans that the Lord has for you.

My son. My sweet boy. May you always be a safe place for those around you. May you always love big, despite disappointments. And may the light in your eyes never dim, but only burn brighter.

The Way You Love Us

I remember the first time I held your hand. I got butterflies. Cheesy as that may be, no one had ever made me feel like that before. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not a touchy person in the least. Except for when it came to you. Holding your hand. Being wrapped in your embrace. It feels like home.

There was a moment while I was in labor with each of our kids where the only position that felt safe, the only way I was comfortable, the only place where I knew the pain wouldn’t completely swallow me, was leaning against you and wrapped in your arms.

And I’ve seen it, over and over again. I’ve seen others lean on you in times of trouble. I’ve watched your friends find peace in your company. But the moments that bring me the most joy are watching our kids find safety in your presence. Being willing to try new things, because you’re watching. Getting up and trying again because you picked them up after they fell down. Enduring high fevers and painful coughs because you held them until they fell asleep. Believing in how big God is and how much He loves them because of the strength you claim in Jesus and how you love without limits.

The way you love us. Push us to be everything we were created to be. Hold us when we’re hurting. Make us laugh. I always knew you’d be an incredible father. They may not realize it today, but I hope someday they know how lucky they are to have you.

Happy Father’s day handsome. We love you.

Growing Up

Today was her last day of kindergarten and his last day of pre-school.

I just... How? I know many of you have kiddos graduating high school, some even college. I cannot even image how you must be feeling.

She's reading, writing, adding, and eager to learn more and more every day. Her questions have gone from, "...but why?" To these deep, well thought out, critical thinker kind of questions. And while all those things are important and exciting, I asked her last week if there was anything that she learned about herself. And the answer, in short, was confidence and the power of her words.

He's... Sitting in his seat and keeping his pants on his body. And today I witnessed him gather his friends to play tag and duck-duck-goose. He eagerly pulled more in and cleverly tagged everyone as the goose so he would have the entire class chasing him. He's a good friend. He loves people. Oh and he knows the letter "H." He says it's "his letter."

I have been a mother for over 6 years now. I can hardly believe it. I remember when my husband and I used to spend evenings chatting about what kind of school our kids would go to, and which subject we thought they'd flourish in. And all of those conversations were just "what ifs" and distant dreams. And now here we are, one headed into 1st grade and the other into pre-k.

Hold those babies close, friends. It really is a blink.

Then You Were FOUR

Happy birthday to our sweet boy!

I often tell people that Harvey is exactly what I pictured when I imagined having a little boy. From his blue eyes to his dimple chin. The way he deeply cares for those around him and destroys all the "nice" things we own. His crazy, neverending energy and how he can't sleep without his "special song."

He is all boy. Dirty, smelly, with energy that's often misunderstood. But he's also one of the sweetest little humans I have ever met. Brave, kind, empathetic beyond his years, strong and gentle, just like his daddy.

He doesn't know a stranger, and will hug just about anyone who will let him. He finds such joy in telling me and his sister that "we look beautiful today" even when we've just rolled out of bed. Really, he loves to hand out compliments and lights up when he sees others light up.

He's made us laugh harder than I ever knew possible, and has taught us so much about what it means to love without limits.

He came at the perfect time. And is often the peace in our home. I am so thankful that I get to be his mommy. He is such a gift.

Happy birthday stinks, you're our favorite boy.

Seemingly Mundane

Breakfast time.

Something that I see every single day. Raegan decided a long time ago that she was "big enough" to make her own breakfast, so most mornings consist of her getting up to her alarm, getting her uniform on, making sure her homework is ready, and then "making breakfast" for her and her brother.

AKA, she toasts some waffles, microwaves oatmeal, or pours a couple bowls of cereal. Nothing too fancy, I wouldn't let her use the stove unsupervised yet. And don't worry, there's always fruit or something too.

Anyway. I had a thought this morning, while I watched them eating. Someday all too soon, my breakfast table will be empty. I have at least 16 years you say? I already cannot believe that I'll have a 7 year old & 4 year old this year. It really was a blink, as cliche as it may sound.

I'm so thankful for my camera. Capturing the big moments are important, sure. But it's these moments. The everyday. The stuff we often take for granted. 25 years from now when my house is quiet and my kiddos are feeding babies of their own, I know my heart will ache for this scene. So today I made sure to capture it. Distracted by cartoons and grumpy from only being awake for 20 minutes, I wouldn't trade these moments for the world.