While standing outside on the front porch in the dark, I notice the house across the street. Specifically, I notice the flickering shadows in one of the windows.
As I continue to watch, it becomes clear what is happening behind the closed blinds. The little boys that live there are jumping on their bed. I smile to myself. As I watch, my mind recalls years ago when my two sons were both younger than six years old and jumped on their beds.
As a responsible parent, I bade them to stop....... but deep inside, I adored the screeches and giggles their raucous fun elicited.
Now, my sons are sixteen and seventeen years old. They don't jump on their beds anymore. But I still caution them against dangers seen and unseen. I still relish the glint in their eyes as they spread their wings in various ways.
I miss the childish laughter. But I am enjoying the years at hand. They are strong, smart and dashing. And they are still my babies.