"But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet; tread softly, because you tread on my dreams." ~William Butler Yeats
I'm just waiting for our teens to go to bed so we can fill their stockings....
Our little family rarely does the cliche thing. Believe it or not, this is my version of our yearly Christmas photo. Well, if we had a yearly Christmas photo. We're just not that type of family I guess.
As my children continue growing well into their teenaged years now, I am still perplexed by their accelerated physical changes and all the other changes too. Moods. Attitudes. What they value now. What they no longer seem to value. Not only are they growing, they are growing away from us.
How did this happen so quickly? I so fondly recall the way it once was...when it was quite obvious whose feet were ours and whose feet were our children. I washed those feet. I clipped those toenails. I put band-aids on those feet. I tickled those feet. Those feet once clomped around our house in our shoes. I rubbed those feet. I led those feet safely across the street. But not anymore.
These feet are reminders that my wife and I don't have that much time left with them. How did they get this old? Can you tell whose feet are whose? I can barely tell anymore. I know. I know. Every parent has to go through this. Every parent finds it difficult to fathom how quickly time sneaks away.
But these feet are my life. These are the feet I love: my wife, my daughter, my son, myself. I really have nothing more precious. I am afraid for the future. For their future. But hopeful too. I have spread my dreams under these feet. World: tread softly. Please.