Time is really speeding up around here.

The other day we had some rare March sunshine and my not-a-baby-anymore, Walter, asked if we could “Please go outside and lay down on a blanket to look at the animals in the clouds.” I said, “(Sniffle, sniffle) Okay.”

And we did. And I took a mental picture and drew it out so I wouldn’t forget.

His little three-year-old legs covered up to his thighs in his dad’s special Superman socks (so he looked like a fifties pin-up girl). The Superman shirt with a cape that he loves because his big brother has the same one and because he wants so badly to be a strong, big, brave hero. The sunglasses that he stole right off my face because he somehow knows that there is nothing of mine that I wouldn’t happily give up for him. The beautiful day in the middle of a dreary wet March that I otherwise might have let pass by unnoticed.

And we found a frog in the clouds. And a feather in the grass. And he asked if he could have grilled cheese for lunch. Cut into butterflies. And I said yes.

And for a little while, time slowed down.