Book time for two, lavender bath for the other.

I warn them not to play, yet so often they play.

It becomes a battle ground, bedtime, and I have to be intentional with my response. My primal reaction is to yell, reprimand them for their disobedience.


But, their faces.

Those adorable, round, faces. Flush with joy, eyes like their father. The way the evening light hits them, takes my breath from my lungs.

Childhood is all they know. Laughter and giggles and love. Make believe. It is their morning, noon, night.

Ten years in, I am still learning. Growing. Stretching. Make believing again, they remind me to do that.

Thank you, dear wee ones. For teaching mama what it means to just, be.

angie warren // childhood
angie warren // childhood
angie warren // childhood