Jack, who is four and a half, recently learned how to pump his legs and swing himself. 

He swings now every day.  He loves to swing.  And I love how much he loves it.  Swinging is one of those childhood joys that are irreplaceable.

My camera is funking out. Outside, the shots are great...but inside....ah, well. I really don't know what I'm doing wrong. This is why I am not a photographer. But WHY, then, is my blog so picture heavy?

Because I think that you can see, even through the bad grain and the poor light, that face. I sometimes put this chicken up on the counter next to me, and we visit while I cook, or make tea. I don't remember the occasion for taking these- at all- but I looked at them and thought,
"This is such a perfect age."

I meant Miles' age, not this age- this age of cloudiness and confusion that surrounds our world.

Two and a half is a wonderful age. He's fun to talk to, interesting in his observations, and small enough to hug all over- he's still an armful.

And I realize, too, that this is why the youngest child is babied. With chickens and children, time flies by. Now that Miles is soaring through these years, I am better at seeing what I so fleetingly enjoyed with the others.

Whenever I look at him, I think of my other two-and-a-half-year olds, and I enjoy him more for that.

I would give up many things to be able to physically relive holding my two year old Jack or Lucy or Bowden...it wasn't so long ago that they were two and a half, but it isn't getting any nearer.