Monday, April 15, 2013
Here’s to tiny hands...curious hands...sticky hands. Hands whose tiny fingers poke and point and smoosh and stick their little selves in places we won’t dig into, so to speak, here. Hands that can cling to the tiniest piece of sacred blankie satin with great precision, while pouring what’s left of the Cheerios into, under and around the dog’s dish. Here’s to tiny hands that only want to color with permanent markers. They know the difference. They really do. Here’s to tiny hands that love Mommy polished nails and plastic tea cup parties. Here’s to tiny hands that love mud and trucks and drums made out of an empty coffee can and two old sticks. Here’s to tiny hands that love to wrap fancy feather boas around tiny necks and put Mom’s fancy heels on tiny feet and try to dance. Here’s to tiny hands...curious hands...sticky hands that I will try to hold in mine forever and have to let go of too soon. Please stay tiny just a bit longer...for Grandpa.