Fingers splayed wide, he placed both palms on the microwave door, which he used as a wall for his standing push-ups
“Jacob, please! The handprints!” The moment the words escaped my lips, I saw this now 17-year-old as the little, sticky-fingered toddler setting his marks on any shiny surface he could find. Those handprints I’d scrub away only to find magically reappeared within seconds.
Time. Where has it gone? How does time do this? It seems to crawl when they are three. Yet once they reach 14, that crawl reaches a sprinting stride that leaves a mama breathless. Oh, time, please do slow down.
Join me at Her View From Home where I’m sharing words on the process of watching handprints become heartprints.