Why is it when I know I’m leaving on a trip I want to hug them a little longer?

When they ask me to read a story, I drop everything to criss-cross on the carpet with one on either side. When I’m asked to get out all the craft supplies, I stop washing the dishes and pull down the giant box and search frantically for the glue sticks that used to be in there. When I know I am going to be gone, each moment in our lives seems sweeter, and shorter.

I’m only leaving for 4 days. My husband and I try to get away by ourselves for a weekend twice a year. We just need it.

But it never fails that the week up until pack my own suitcase for the plane, and their suitcases for their grandmother’s house, I am more sentimental, more willing to put their tiny needs and desires first.

Why can’t I do that all the time?

In my own defense, I do work on crafts with them and read them books; I make Lego castles in the bedroom. But often my own things supercede theirs. And they get the leftovers.

I don’t want my kids ever to get the leftovers. Ever.

So today, I am going to get out the extra stickers and colored paper to make new art for my refrigerator. I am going to stack the blocks high and see who will knock them over. I’ll put down my magazine and let them pile on my lap to watch a video. I will give them my firsts rather than my lasts.

And next Monday when I get back from Boston, I’ll try very hard to let the laundry wait until they go to bed and allow them to help me in the unpacking. I’ll try to give them my firsts even then.