The Smell of Them

Clean. 

Fresh from a bath and sleepy. Listening to a story and staring up into my face as I imitate a pirate. 

I pray.... Oh Father let me remember what it feels like to hold him when he is eighteen and running the other way from the safety of my arms. 

Sweaty.

 Coming back from riding around the block on his bike, solo. His face is beaming with pride and joy. 

I pray......oh Father let him always have something he is proud if accomplishing.

Like rain. 

Laughing as I tickle him and scoop him as he comes in from playing in the rain. 

And I pray....help me remember he his little and the sweetness of him, of them both when my patience is low. 

Oh my the smells of my little ones remind of the memories and the simple prayers whispered over them as we go about our busy days.