fourteen. hours until they are all mine for lots of days in a row.
fourteen. hours until our lives become a whole let less fettered.
fourteen. hours before running to the grocery store for a few things becomes a monumental effort involving flow charts and sweat and instructions for getting found after being lost.
fourteen. hours to begin remembering what it's like to have sand between my toes and the smell of sunscreen in the webs of my fingers.
fourteen. hours until I hear one of them say, "I'm bored". Maybe fourteen and a half.
fourteen. hours until I will likely cry when I see them walk out their classroom doors (don't you even ask me to stay in the commons. don't) and remember the ways they've grown and changed this year.
fourteen. hours until I look at the tired, triumphant faces of their teachers and thank them silently for the millionth time for being part of the village it's taking to raise our children.
fourteen. hours until I remember, really remember, what a gift I have in our kid's school and the team of people there who are united in their desire to help our kids become followers of Jesus.
fourteen. hours until I will call Dan and tell him in a tremulous voice that I've got them.
fourteen. hours until we put away the backpacks for the last time. not on the hooks. in the closet. away.
fourteen. hours until Peter realizes it's all polyester triple knit from now on.
fourteen. hours before the idea of me and four kids and a keloid scar named steve for lots of days in a row sinks in and simultaneously thrills and terrifies me. Mostly thrills.
fourteen. hours until summer.