I hope I never forget

I hope I never forget the way that George feels sitting in my lap reading a book.  The way he rear-ends his way into my crossed legs to signal that he wants to read.  The warmth of his body against my stomach.  The easy access to ruddy cheek kissing I have in between verses in the book.  The sweaty boy smell he has at the end of the day.

I hope I never forget Frances leaning over George and asking him in her sweet Minnie Mouse voice if he wants to play something and George giving his classic nod.  “Okay!” says Frances and off she runs with George bounding behind her.

I hope I never forget the sound of George calling me Mimi.  I am certain that in a few short months (or even weeks), he will change his ways and call me simply “Mommy.”  And I am certain I will get a little bit weepy when he does that.

I hope I never forget that Frances uses the soft “g” sound when pronouncing her brother’s name (the same “g” sound that comes at the end of the word "beige") – very French!

I hope I never forget that every night I sing Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do” to George as I am putting him to bed.  It’s my small tribute to Bea Arthur who sang that tune on an episode of The Golden Girls and I have loved it ever since.  Yes, technically it’s a love song (and a sad one at that), but it fits our evening routine.  George puts his head on my shoulders as I rock him back and forth; sometimes he looks right in my eyes on the last verse as if to say “good night.”  That's when I really need to get a tissue. 

I hope I never forget that Frances calls my dress heels my “tap shoes” and always asks me when I am wearing them again.  It is inconceivable to her that I don’t voluntarily wear them every day as certainly she would if she were an adult.

I hope I never forget the sound of unrestrained giggles that my children make when they are playing.  I am forever grateful that (at least for now) Frances and George adore being with each other dare I say more than they like being with anyone else, including their own parents.  Frances begs to wake George up from his nap if he is sleeping longer than expected and George races to get in the car seat (I know!  I promise, it’s the only time he does that) if he knows we are picking Frances up from school.

I hope I never forget what Frances and George are like at these perfect ages of 3 ½ and 1 ½.



Can we just freeze them here, please?