Monday, March 22, 2010
Every day, as soon as we step out of the front door to our building, my son takes my hand. When my daughter wakes up, she holds my hand for the walk out of her bedroom and over to the living room couch. When we leave the building, she may take my hand, or she may skip ahead, depending on the weather, her mood, the slant of the sun. It's such a small gesture, securing your hand in another's, such a particular thing, to hold a child's hand, and it's so fleeting. Every so often, watching my kids stretch out and run ahead, I can't help but wonder when I'm going to stop needing that third hand to take the bags so I can keep hold of their hands. No doubt it'll be too soon.