My son, I will always be there

Tonight, my youngest son cried. He cried over everything. He cried because he wanted ice cream before dinner, he cried because he wanted to climb the tree that was too big. He cried because he didn't want to go to sleep, even though his beautiful, blue, 4 year old crying eyes were so sleepy he could hardly hold them open. I hope he wakes up in the morning knowing that I will always be there. I will be there through the crying. I will be there to give him his ice cream once dinner is done. I will be there to help him out of that too big tree and I will be there to lay with him and run my fingers through his blonde hair as he finally drifts off to sleep. 

As the days fly on by, faster than the ones before, I will be there, steady as that too big tree in the yard. When they are late for school, forget their lunch or that kid is mean to them on the bus...I will be there. When their pants need scrubbing and jerseys need ironing for that game when they make the most amazing play, or the game when they feel like they let everyone down, I will always be there. 

When the teacher doesn't "get him", the classes get harder and their friends start to change, I will be there. When the car gets wrecked or they need a ride home from that party they weren't suppose to go to, I will be there. 

When they realize that the girl they liked didn't feel the same way, I will be there to remind them of their great worth...when they find the girl who does see how great they are, I will be there, so excited and grateful. When they promise God to love her forever, I will be there, praying for their every step. When the first argument happens and they think they need a couch to sleep on for the night, I will be there to talk them through it and send them back home. 

When the "It's time, Mom!" call comes, I will rush to be there...and when the "We haven't slept in days." and "The baby won't stop crying." calls come, I will be there. 

As for now, they both are small. They are a handsome, wild at heart, smarter than he gives himself credit for 8 year old and a beautiful, free spirited, barefoot, always has something to say 4 year old. If, one day, all they are sure of about their mother is that she will always be there, then this journey will have been worth every tear they shed.