These small people

I marvel at my children.

These small people that came from me. And my husband.
Day by day I go on, feeding them, clothing them, wiping up their messes, putting away their things, washing their clothes. On and on.

It's so easy to look past the amazement
that God wants me to see.

To look at the face of your child and see a bit of you and a bit of him.

The way my daugther's sense of humor is just as witty and biting has my husbands can be.
How she could care less about historical fiction and runs to fantasy. Just like dad.
She whispers her greatest fears to her daddy late at night when he snuggles her in bed. Just like me. 
The way my son refuses to watch someone else brush their teeth, because "it makes his stomach feel weird". Just like his father. (I had always dreamed of brushing teeth with my husband before bed. Never.)
How he has not just one, but two cowlicks on the top of his head. He and his father challenge hairdressers.
How they both love to conduct music blasting from the stereo. 
The way he writes his letters from the bottom up. Just like his dad.
My 5 year old has my freckled nose and my oldest has my ears that make her look like an elf. 
My son befriends the kid who has no friends, because he can just imagine how he feels. My friend-less friend in 3rd grade was named Abra.

I love them with my whole self. They amaze me. I want to know them as adults. See who they marry. What job they will hold. If they will love God. If they will think well of me or just remember my many mistakes. I hope they will remember my love for them. That they are amazing and wonderful. That they are a little bit of me and a little bit of him.