moments

I looked out the front window, and in next door's garden are three children. Two are mine. The sun shines, the grass is green, flowers are reaching up. My daughter stands, leans on the bench. Faces obscured by a catkin covered tree, I see the kids' friend, whose feet just almost nearly reach the ground, and my son's two little trouser clad legs and navy runners, dangling way above it. As he sits. In between two six year old girls. So rooted in his own little moment. It's lovely.

And the other day, my daughter came to ask me for something, to complain - I looked at her, saw her pale face, her not quite coping, and asked if she was ok. 'Yes, I'm tiredy,' she said. I didn't say anything, just smiled inside, to hear the little girl coming out. 'Tired. I mean I'm tired,' she ammended firmly, catching herself, sounding alarmed. I wish she would just relax, and just let herself be my tiredy baby. But her feet are too close to touching the ground for that, I suppose.