My son is a magnet for Russian women. Particularly enthusiastic grand-motherly Russian women.
This fact is something that may come of little surprise to anyone who's seen my youngest son recently. Suffice to say he's a big healthy bouncing baby boy who tips the scales for his age. We seem to have a plethora of Russians living in our area and somehow they all manage to flock to my son. His little cheeks have been pinched by several Russians who live in my mother's apartment complex. (So often that now anytime my middle son hears a Russian accent he takes cover and hides behind my legs so he's not also victimized by the cheek-pinchers). We often run into Russians at the local library as well. And, again with the pinching. (And you just thought he had naturally rosie cheeks! Ha!)
This afternoon I ventured out to the grocery store. Levi was strapped securely in the seat of the cart and my older two were "helping" me gather groceries and putting them in the cart for me. I turned to the side to snatch a bunch of bananas and hear the distinct sound of a Russian woman exclaiming about (as best as I can spell) shcheki. Now, I'm not fluent in Russian, but by context I gather they're talking about his rather fat cheeks! I turn around to see Levi arching his little back and straining backwards as best he can in his seat while this grandmother is inching closer to his cheeks. I tried my best to step back over and rescue my little butter ball, but alas she has a box-out that would make most NBA players blush. After much ooing and ahing she finally steps aside and I again regain the reigns of my cart. She turns to me, grabs me by my shoulders and she tells me (insert deep Russian accent here) "Photo. You must take photo. You. You go home, and you take photo. Lots of photo. He. He is picture perfect. You must take photo."
I nodded and smiled as politely as I could. She then went around the cart and gathered Lydia into what I can only describe as a "bosom hug" (You know the kind, right? Where they smush your face into their bosom and rock back and forth?) Lydia looked taken aback for a moment but then just smiled and turned to me and said "Mommy, she's silly." :) (Note that Boaz had already heard the tell-tale accent and was safely hiding behind my legs at this point.)
It was only after I had maneuvered to a different aisle of the store that I started to really ponder what this dear old woman said. "Photo....Lots of photo." He
is pretty darn picture perfect. So, I snapped a photo with my phone. It will never win any amateur photo awards, but I will now forever have that photo to remember what my son looked like on a cold winter day of his ninth month of life. Picture perfect.
We never know how long we have on Earth for only God knows the number of our days, but of this I can be sure: My "littles" will only stay "little" for such a short while. I look at my Lydia...so "grown up" already at nearly five years old. I can fondly remember holding her and rocking her as she had terrible colic and reflux. There were times when I felt like the night drug on forever and that this phase was never going to end. Now I look at her and wish I could swaddle her in a receiving blanket and rock her to sleep on my chest. I look at Boaz. Such a "boy" he is. Dinosaurs and trains. Balls and dirt. Lots of dirt. It's hard to remember him as that little 6 pound 15 ounce peanut that made my heart melt when I first saw his tiny face. Levi. My strapping boy. He always seems bigger than he should be. He's so eager to reach that next milestone so he can keep up with his siblings.
Photos. Lots of photos. Lord help me to remember to take lots of photos so I can remember these precious moments. Lord help me to never take for granted the blessings you've showered on me. Lord when I'm tired from a night of no sleep, help me to remember to be thankful for the privilege of spending those late night or early morning moments with my "littles" because they won't be little for very long.
I'm forever thankful to
God Almighty, the Author of Life, who has- for now- blessed me with these.
