A Moment

We have lots of fun to report from last week's February vacation (Ethan's, not the rest of ours')...probably a couple posts worth of family and trips and adventures.  Those will come, I promise, but tonight I just want to capture today.  Because this is what we woke up to this morning: 

Really, now, does it get much more spectacular than that?  (And kudos to Ben for capturing this beauty, on his iPhone no less!)  So lucky am I that it happened to be a Monday, and on Monday mornings I volunteer in Ethan's classroom (but not until 11ish) and therefore have childcare for Adam, and voila!  I had a rare and blissful opportunity to strap on my snowshoes and take a (top ten, no joke) walk in the woods.  Many factors converged to make this a most memorable walk (until the last part, when I somehow got myself a little lost and ended up on a road two miles from where I'd parked my car...that part was, well, memorable nonetheless).  Something about the brilliant sunshine, the intense blue sky, the majestic trees bowing under the weight of the heavy, pristine snow, and the quiet that only a Monday morning can bring...it was a moment.  So while I walked, I tried not to make lists, not to plan ahead, not to mull over old conversations, not to think about the future, but to just be.  To use every one of my senses to take that hour in in all its glory, understanding its unique and uncommon beauty.  It was joyful.  And while I *tried* not to write in my head while I walked, I couldn't help but think of a few other things I am savoring right now - a few other "moments" I want to imprint in my memory to take with me always.  Like:

• The quiet shuffle of Adam's feet as he makes his way into our room each morning, one hand around horsey and the other in his mouth.  The sweet way he asks "Can I snuggle?" and then the dreamy exhale as he settles into my arms.  His little uneven breaths as he drifts back into dreamland and his eyelashes...oh his eyelashes!  Ski jumps that appear unending when seen up close, as they are with our faces almost touching.
• Ethan's face when he's reading a new book.  Full of concentration and pride and the glow that can only come from learning and mastering a new skill.  
• The face Adam makes when he knows he's being clever - eyebrows raised, tiny smirky grin, and chin tipped downward, as if feigning shyness.
• The downy, dark hair on the back of Ethan's neck and upper back.  One day that hair will get thicker, and he'll get smellier, but for now it's still the same hair that covered his back the day he was born.  I remember noticing his hairy back for the very first time and thinking it was just adorable and knowing that only a mother's love could make back hair really and truly endearing.
• The quiet conversations between brothers as they're falling asleep, or riding in the car, or snuggling on the couch.  I particularly love the way Adam asks Ethan questions with such pure admiration and trust, believing Ethan to be the wisest person he knows.  And the way Ethan answers those questions, or shows Adam how to do something, or makes sure that he doesn't miss a thing (as evidenced by the near constant "Adam, we're about to take off!  Adam, we're going to go really fast now and then we're going to take off!  Adam, we're about to take off now!  Adam, we're taking off now!  Adam, look out your window!  Adam, we're in the air!  [Repeat repeat repeat]" on yesterday's flight home from New York).
• Making applesauce with my boys, which is really me making applesauce with them saddled up to our counter and tasting a bite of every apple that goes into that pot.  Somehow, it still feels like a community effort.  
• The "I love you"s and the "see you in the mornin'!"s and the hugs and the hand-holding and the fighting over sitting in my lap and the requests for head rubs and to be picked up and the way that they look at me as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world.
• And this:

That, I will never, ever get sick of looking at.  And I know it's a moment.  Just a moment in this life of mine, and as such, one that I must fully experience with every ounce of my being.  Because moments are, by definition, rare and fleeting, and will one day become (if we should be so lucky), only memories.