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My boy loves origami.
I love my boy.
I love his look of concentration. The freckles appearing on his nose.
I love the little mole by his lip. I even love his (lack of) fingernails, although I can’t stand the fact that he bites them. I love those stubby nails because they’re just a little piece of what makes him him. I will still try – to no avail, I’m afraid- to get him to stop biting them.
I love his hands that aren’t so little anymore. The fact that he sometimes still reaches to hold my hand doesn’t hurt my feelings, either. *Note: add emphasis on “sometimes still reaches to hold my hand.“
I love his grass-stained knees. I love those plaid shorts that remind me of my Grandpa Ryan.
I love the little glimpses of the young man I see in his posture, even though I get irritated when he doesn’t keep the chair on “all fours.”
I love that he’s intent. And serious. (I don’t love how dirty his shirt is. Because I don’t love laundry.)
I love his miniature creatures made of paper. I love how they look parading on top of the bookcase.
I love the little reminder of him when I see them.
I love my boy.
“Happiness is different from pleasure. Happiness has something to do with struggling and enduring and accomplishing.”
-George Sheehan
Cheryl - I love him too!
Kara - I love him too! Those little creatures are so cool. I’m a little jealous of his origami skills.