As I was lying stretched out on the cold concrete floor of the gym after my workout this morning, listening to my guys (my husband and sons) working out, I was once again struck by how grown up my boys have become. Hearing the clang of plates being loaded onto barbells, the bouncing thud of the weights being dropped onto power pads after dead lifts, shouts of "You got this!" and "YEAH!", I suddenly had a flashback of another weight room 10 years or so ago.

When we lived in Coast Guard housing in Miami, when Craig wasn't deployed, on the weekends we would take a family walk to the little rec room. The weight room was about the size of a hotel facility and was always empty. While Craig and I took turns doing sets, the boys would play with the "rabbits" (the spring collars that hold weights on barbells). Back then I lifted to the sounds of giggles and grunts as my little guys took turns curling 2.5 lb dumbbells.
I've spent the last year feeling like I did when I rode that giant swinging Viking ship at King's Island as a teen. I've had moments of joy, soaring inside, feeling so proud of my sons as I catch glimpses in them of the men they will become. And then suddenly something shifts, and a nauseating sensation comes as I feel time slipping and falling, realizing how far away those tiny giggles are. I'm wondering how many moments I've already forgotten, and how many more memories age will steal from me. But then again, another flash of maturity will come from my boys and my heart soars with love for them. I realize how blessed I am; how awesome it is to be a mom, and I resolve to absolutely spend as much time as possible (as much as they'll let me) laughing and loving and listening to my sons.


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