There are some things that moms have to do over and over again. Especially if they have more than one child.
I may have missed the diapers and midnight feeding stage, but I've hit some other stages, even some that normally aren't on the list.
One that I've been in for the past eight years is the little, plastic straw wrappings stage. You know those little, clear wrappers the straws that come glued to the side of juice boxes and Capri Suns are in?
They cling to everything, come off in several pieces and never make it to the trashcan. Never.
They are my archenemy.
At least they were. That all changed on Wednesday.
Because on Wednesday I opened one of those little straws for Amy and I realized I couldn't remember when the last time I had opened one, or picked one up off the floor.
And it made me sad.
As much as I thought I wanted those days behind me, I don't. Those little, plastic straw wrappings told me that my kids were still in the juice box stage. They were still little.
Some days I miss little.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my teenagers. A lot. They are a tremendous help to me every minute of every day.
But the little ones who need you to help find their shoe and listen to them read aloud and can't seem to get the little, plastic straw wrapping into the trashcan, they melt my heart.
Call me sentimental, but I miss finding those things on the counter and the floor now.
I wonder if I'll ever feel that way about closing closet doors, because I think I'm the only one in the house that knows the door swings both ways...