When my sons were young, I’d sing made-up songs to them. Well, it wasn’t really singing, more like squeaking and squawking. But I tried. I really tried. I remember this one song, perhaps because it plucked my heartstrings. The chorus went something like this: My, how times flies, how it really, really flies. My little babe is now a little boy. As they grew, “boy” became “young man.” I don’t sing that song anymore, but sometimes I want to. Sometimes, I wish I could cuddle them in the rocker, their head against my heart, and softly sing that sweet song. But they’re 20 and 16 now, much too old to sit on my lap and rock away the hours just because.
Time really does fly and before you know it the little hand you held is the big hand helping you.
Don’t wish away todays for tomorrows. Todays fade fast enough.