The kids were getting ready for school; running up the stairs to brush their teeth and running back down. Running back up the stairs to grab their sweatshirts and running back down. I was directing traffic from the couch with my bowl of cereal, signing homework.

I glanced over at the kitchen table and there sat our youngest with his bowl of oatmeal, which he requests every single day. One streak of light was shining through hitting him square in the face. He was illuminated in the dark room. And I watched as he slowly maneuvered the spoon from the bowl to his mouth. He wasn’t bothered by the chaos around him or the TV on in the adjacent room. He was just enjoying his oatmeal.
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Childhood is too short.