Just one more time...

I think it must be a Mom thing. I don't sense the same wistfulness and urgency in my husband when we talk of our son growing up. I watch him play with little-boy imagination and sheer abandon and I want to bottle those moments and keep them forever. I'll turn around and see him sitting on the couch in pajamas and I'll catch my breath and think, "He looks so grown up!!!"

I'm in no hurry for him to grow up. Nor do I want to tie him to childhood. I just simply want one more.

One more Christmas with a deep seated and unwavering belief that Santa is coming down our chimney.

One more visit to Disney World that is filled with the wonder of discovery and moments of sheer magic. One more visit to a land while the characters are real and true princesses give kisses to sweet little boys.

One more snuggle on the couch.

One more walk with a small hand in mine simply because it wants to be there.

One more day before he stops calling me Mommy.

One more good-night kiss.

One more Saturday morning wrestling match in our bed trying to wake up Daddy.

One more rock given to me as a gift as precious as the most priceless jewel.

One more vase of back yard flowers picked by grubby hands for the Princess Mommy.

I wish I had kept every rock and weed and put them in a jar or pressed them in a book. I've tossed the rocks back in the garden and let the flowers die. Have I been as callous with our special moments together? I hope not.

Things are changing quickly. I want to hold my moments a little closer. If I am blessed with rocks or weeds I vow to treat them as great treasures. When begged, I'll play one more game, take one more nature walk and have one more snuggle.

And at the end of every beautiful day, I'll hope for just one more.