“You’re gonna miss this.”
I found myself singing the chorus to the Trace Adkins country hit as I swept up yet another pile of spilt cereal.
Spilt cereal. Laundry that has missed the hamper. Shoes that need to be tied. “You’re gonna miss this.”
Broken crayons, matchbox cars, little figurines. Doll house pieces, dress up clothes and mountains of stuffed animals. “You’re gonna miss this.”
Neighborhood walks that never end because each leaf needs to be looked at. Piles of books strewn about because stacking them is more fun than reading. “You’re gonna miss this.”
Wood chips in sneakers from playground adventures. Snack crumbs that cover the back seat of the car. T-shirts the need an extra wash from spilt bubbles, splattered pizza sauce or the random remnants from their sticky hands and messy mouths. “You’re gonna miss this.”
Struggles to get their teeth brushed and hair combed. Bubble baths that soak the bathroom floor. Bedtime routines that some nights take just too long. “You’re gonna miss this.”
“You’re gonna miss this. You’re gonna want this back. You’re gonna wish these days, hadn’t gone by so fast.” I sing the words reassuringly and a little off-key.
I think I’ll sweep up this mess with a smile.