Turkey Sandwiches.

Last night I was making dinner: turkey sandwiches and smoothies. 

The pirates were running around.  Robs and Enriqueboy were battling over one of the two couch options, and Squish was perched by the arm watching it all.  She'd shriek when they got close- and sink to her diapered bum because she can't stand and laugh at the same time.

At one point all three pirates were crowded behind the one couch located only eight inches from the wall.  From the sound of it I was missing something grand... but I was making turkey sandwiches- and couldn't/wouldn't even think of fitting in eight inches of space.

Instead, Steve and I stopped to watch for a minute.  It's all we can do when time insists on moving so darn fast. 

And then I whispered to Steve how Squish will be our most well-adjusted child.  (Neither of our other one year olds were lucky enough to have siblings squish with them behind the couch.)

Speaking of other one year olds: Yesterday I opened up a bag of clothes to see if any would fit our current Squish, and all sorts of memories came tumbling out.  I pulled the strawberry shirt on Squish and my mind zoomed to finding Robs' chubby fingers through the arm holes. 

I loved it.  But it killed me.  Nostalgia and I don't get along.

Before I could pack the other clothes away, Enriqueboy came in to see what we were doing.  He outfitted his toes with old shoes, and asked me (honestly) why they didn't fit anymore.

His three year old logic is awesome. 

...As long as I'm on the right side of it.

Which is why I was making turkey sandwiches- because his three year old self also tells me he's hungry every hour and a half- 

and let's me know when the meal is taking too long. 

I love our life.

The grumpies. The turkey sandwiches. The old clothes.

The nostalgia that kills me.  The pirates behind the couch.

Every. Single. Minute.