Lest I Forget.

I’m not the greatest housekeeper in the world, but I make my bed every day (almost) and I try to keep the kitchen reasonably decent. I vacuum the floors whenever the dog fur threatens to compile itself into something living and strangle us in our sleep – which is at least three times per week.

But for quite some time, I couldn’t bring myself to clean this mirror:

handprints on the mirror

It’s a funny thing about kids – as a parent, you can’t wait for them to grow up and be able to do for themselves, but when they do just that you struggle to remember what they looked like when they were little. You strain and flex your brain to remember how they talked, what they said. That’s why I keep this blog – so I can jog my memory and put words with the photos to more accurately capture exactly what was happening at the time.

For example, I’m absolutely certain when Ethan made these prints we were telling him not to do it. We have told him many, many times to stop putting prints on the glass, with this same result. I’m sure he was laughing as he did it, too.

And the truth is, I don’t hold it against him. Every time I walked past and saw them, I smiled. I know when he gets into high school, he won’t need us to help him reach the apple on top of the refrigerator. He’ll be trading his toy cars for real ones sooner than I’d like. I smiled because the handprints on the mirror served as notice to us; a reminder to savor who he is right now and how he has imprinted himself on our lives. Too soon he will grow up and stop leaving these prints on my glass, and I will have lost something I can’t get back. I felt I had to preserve these prints, so I asked Greg to take this photo before I cleaned the mirror.