It is okay after all.

I don't write anymore.  And I'm not sure why.  There are still so many things to say, so many pictures to post.  But I guess the life stuff has gotten in the way.  I'll try to do better.  I'll try to keep you informed and updated on my insanely fabulous life. I promise.  I really do.

So, Zeke turned six since we last spoke.  Cue the waterworks folks, because I just can't handle it.  He's....so....old.  I remember when my nephew turned six and I just thought he was a big kid at that point.  MY KID IS A BIG KID NOW.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.  I still try to pick him up and hold him on my lap like a baby on occasion...but his legs and arms dangle like jumpropes.  It's a shame.  It's a shame how fast it goes.  But what's the "it"?  Everyone talks about the "it" and how it's hard and fun and the best thing you'll ever do.  But no one can ever tell you what "it" is.  Here's my definition:

It is the smile on his face when he wakes up and knows it's his birthday.  It is the hand that still feels kinda' small in mine when he grabs for it as we cross a street.  It is the wiggly tooth that he's so proud of.  It is the wonder and curiosity in his face as he carefully inspects a smooshed caterpillar on the sidewalk and happily calls the guts on the ground it's poop.  It is the joy he feels as he counts down the days to his first real summer vacation.  It is the feeling of it being okay that I'm picking up dirty underwear, socks, shorts and shirts that he so carelessly tosses when he's getting comfy under his blankie.  It is the feeling that this child will always know that I'm the only mom he'll ever have.  It is knowing that my life has a bigger meaning, that I'm a role model and a teacher of life to someone who is a clean slate.  It is baking a vanilla pound cake on a rainy Tuesday just because he'll eat half of it that same day....and I'll let him.  And It is feeling unconditional love.  Love that will always be deep-rooted even when he has his own family to care for.  He'll remember that he had a mom who cared enough to hold his hand as he crossed the street, to bake pound cake for him...and let him eat half of it in a day, who picked up his dirty clothes with only the occasional yell, and who agreed that caterpillar guts on the sidewalk was actually caterpillar poop.  Or maybe he won't remember.  But I will.  And that?  That's what It is.