Teaching him to count

His math book torn and tattered from the years worth of learning 2+2.

His army men serve as his counters and sometimes I look over and he has traveled to the west

 in his imagination and his guns are blazing and a man falls.

I can't help but to laugh.

Oh, the days I have him here are so short.

 I get to hug him and  be the first person to give him a great big

smile in the morning. I get to make him supper and 

special treats. I get to be his one true love for such a short season and

then he will, Lord willing, one day marry and then my daughter in law

will get to do these things. If I look at my time with him as fleeting I'm not so

eager to put down that book. I'm not so willing to let someone else do for him.

I want to do it all. I want to breathe him in and not miss one opportunity

to show him how much I adore him. I want to be the one who teaches him to read.

I want to be his biggest fan and I am; I want him to know that I take my job

as his mother very seriously and it's a great honor to raise him up.

We close our books for the day and he hurries off and I'm left sitting at an

empty table with his men: always reminders to slow me down and enjoy

even the smallest of memories.