I don't know what it is about the kids lately, but they've had my heart in their grubby little hands all summer.
Of course, I've always loved them -- intensely, illogically and without question -- but it's this summer, when they are nine and seven and four, that I've really started to relax and enjoy them. They are the coolest little people, and the fact that we made them, and then nurtured them (as best we could, with many, many mistakes made along the way) and now they are starting to show their true selves and that those selves are pretty what my perfect people would be like if I had my way? It's all a bit of a miracle. Even when they fight and drive me crazy and they break stuff and use gross words in front of perfectly polite people. They can be embarrasing and are definitely making me a little crazier than usual, but oh how I love it. I'm in deep. I can't deny it.
Babies are hard. Teenagers are hard. Hell, adults are hard -- let's not kid ourselves. But this, the midst of childhood, with the scraped knees and the belief in magic and the outgrowing of "baby" things while still asking to be babied, this is my favorite so far.