Only 18 minutes, give or take, until the "big kids" burst in the front door:
Breathless and rosy-cheeked from their sprint home from the bus stop.
18 minutes to be productive.
The kitchen is overflowing.
The carpets need cleaning.
The laundry needs folding.
18 minutes.
Then a knock.
And a cry.
Mamamamamama!
Naptime is ending.
I let Logan out of his room, and give him a quick kiss and a snuggle.
I attempt to set him down.
18 minutes, you know.
But it's just not happening.
Sometimes a boy just needs his mamamamamama.
So we cuddle on the couch instead.
His head on my chest, snuggling in tighter.
Soft, contented baby sighs.
(No sound sweeter.)
One small hand stroking my hair
The other holding his beloved Puppy fast.
(Puppy tail in mouth, naturally.)
18 minutes.
It's simply not enough time.
What a beautiful moment you've captured, wonderfully written.
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