My oldest son is twelve. He's in seventh grade at a small K-8 Lutheran school. We have our ups and downs. He is, at times, rather annoyed and fed up with me and the whole family. Sometimes he feels like he is the most superior human in this house and cannot believe we are all so dumb and foolish. But that part of him only shows up about once a week. The rest of the time he cannot resist the piano and takes every extra moment to noodle with a tune he's been working on for months and months. I wonder if the tune is expanding and he's adding to it or is it done and he just loves plunking it out any chance he gets. I love to see him playing with music and feeling the freedom to find the sound he wants to find and make it his own. It's pretty cool.

He just got his braces off. He's taller than me. He dutifully plays basketball for his team even though he doesn't like it. He's real funny and real sweet. The little thing that I love is that moment when we're joking around together and we are laughing about the same thing and we catch each other's eye. Looking at his face cracking up with me makes life feel pretty perfect. 

My middle son is ten. I keep thinking he's still nine. He loves hamsters (still), reading, using his imagination, hot tea, cozy blankets and "ME" time. He needs lots of time by himself. 

I wrote this radio drama for our Cub Scout troop. I asked him to help me by reading it aloud. He picked up that script and the very first thing he read put him in character and he was acting. It's amazing. He has no fear when it comes to playing a part. That kid is all in. I don't know where he gets it from, but I love to see him do his thing. He was the narrator in the drama. He nailed it. 

My youngest son fell in love with a monkey stocking cap my husband got at a white elephant party. He wears it all the time. He has a style and the style includes a stocking cap pretty much always except for when teachers and the church service make him take it off. When he can't find the monkey hat he has a back up. My youngest son is not a performer. He is an observer. He is a thinker. He does not ever want to draw attention to himself, but he does have a unique spirit that he exercises within his own comfort zone. He got his own room a couple of weeks ago. He is so proud of it. I love seeing that boy in a monkey hat walking down the street at the end of the school day. (He would never want me to see him walking down the street) 

The little things that weave in and out of the housework, the errands, the dinner shifts, the songs make Februrary days spring up like hyacinth and crocus. I am thankful. These little guys (not so little anymore) are the best little things ever.