Don't sweat the small stuff... cherish it.

Sometimes, no matter how much I adore those two boys of mine, I end the day wanting to pull my hair out. 

It's simple, really. All I asked was that they pick up the living room while I folded the laundry. Such a simple task, especially divided between the two of them. So is it any wonder that I felt my frustration grow, little by little when I walked down the stairs...

It's little stuff, but it drives me nuts. Was it really easier to step over the monkey rather than pick it up and put it away? 

And are we going to take bets now on the frantic shoe search that will occur just minutes before the bus arrives tomorrow morning? 

I suppose I should be grateful that at least ONE shoe made it over by his saxophone case. 

One. No clue where the other one is. I suppose that could be his jazz musician name. 

One Shoe Tupin. Has a nice ring to it. 

Pretty sure the water jug isn't the dog's, that is,

unless she's laying off the more understated "whine until 

they fill my water dish" method and is going with 

the time honored "guilt and manipulation" method. 

Don't get me started about laundry. Please. 

And I know we're all super excited that we're getting the Imagination 

Movers episodes again, but did we really need to leave the TV on? Who's

listening, the cat? 

It just wears on you, you know? I walked through the house, the frustration building, reaching a resounding crescendo as I walked into the basement and heard the video games. Sure, I thought, do as little as you can and then run downstairs and turn on the XBox. Not likely, kids. 

And then I stopped. I stopped when I saw this:

It doesn't look like anything... just two boys, on the sofa together, hanging out. For me, though, it was a reminder that there are more important things in life than making sure each sock made it into the basket. There's almost six years of age difference between my boys, six years that seem even farther apart with each day. When those quiet moments of togetherness come.... I'm not going to stop it. 

Sure, maybe they should have double checked their work before heading downstairs. And no, it isn't anything life altering that they're doing- just talking together while one plays and the other watches. It's those kind of quiet moments, though, that I want them to look back on someday. I want them to look back and smile. Because they're special, and they grow more special every day. They can pick up their shoes on their way back upstairs, after all. Moments like these don't come back. 

And neon green vampire teeth trump putting socks away any day, I suppose.