The Little Things.

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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