I had a weird dream this afternoon while napping. My son was five and sitting on the couch playing with a toy. He had his head down concentrating on a bent wheel of a plastic truck while the other kids (who weren't even born yet) scampered around the house. I woke up and felt an instant pang of longing. The old days weren't all great, but the kids had good childhoods full of rice krispy basketballs, puppet show parties and cardboard playhouses. I sat for a while and wondered why the dream made me so sad. I didn't want to go back or even relive those moments. Then it hit me. I wanted to hold that little boy again and smush my face into his warm cheeks. I miss the feel of chubby armed hugs around my neck and sticky peanut buttery fingers in my hair. Sigh. We can't ever go back kid and peanut butter will never taste the same again.
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