I recently read a quote that said that motherhood is a time of long day and short years. That's how I feel always. Every night at 9:30, I about collapse in bed thinking, "This was the longest day of my life," and looking at the pictures of the week, I think "This week was too long," and yet, somehow, it's all too quick. Was Father's Day already over a week ago? But that would mean that June is almost over and it only just became May! My grandparents came for four days, but they're already gone. They just got here? How did those days manage to feel so long and yet race by in the blink of an eye?
Time is a funny thing, and little boys always wake up a day older.