idolized

Sitting on the grass next to the park this morning, I was trying to shove my little boys' feet into their shoes. It was a warm Arizona morning and the sun shimmered in their blond hair. Their toes were sweaty and covered in sand, which I tried to brush off. I could hear the children playing outside at Hannah's school around the block and wished I could drive over and give her a little hug in the middle of her Kindergarten morning. I didn't. I wouldn't want to be that embarrassing mushy mom. So I sat on the grass working Carter's dirty little boy feet into his sneakers. He sat on the grass being silly and waiting while I moved onto Ethan's feet. He'd lay back in the grass, and then so would Ethan. He would sit back up, and once again, his brother would follow suit. He laughed, Ethan laughed. Laid back again, and so did the younger. All the time the baby's little cherub cheeks glowed as he watched carefully and imitated everything his big brother did. Then his idol stood up and scampered across the lawn. Only one shoe on, he wriggled free, his only thought to follow Carter, and ran after him. His feet, only half shod, bounced up and down with his little hop run. I stood up and walked behind, his other sandal dangling from my fingertips.