3.5

My Jack.  Three and a half today.  In the blink of an eye.  In his element.  At the barn.  Pajama shirt.  Dirty jeans.  Boots on the wrong feet.  Climbing fences.  Opening gates.  Balancing on old pieces of wood.  Running.  Laughing.  Too busy to be still for a picture.  Even for his begging Mama.  So I stop asking.  And just watch.  Him being him.  My boy.  So happy for a few stolen moments with just me. And me, just as happy for the same.   Three and a half.  Still spunky.  Still joyful.  Still sneaky.  Still mischievous.   Still sweet.  Oh, so sweet.   Just the other day, on a day full of friends and family and games and fun and being outside until it was dark, a day when he had so much to enjoy, I wondered what he'd say was his favorite part of our busy day.  That night, as I held him close and swirled his hair as he twisted mine, I asked him, "Jack, what was the best part of your day?"  And I expected to hear, "playing with Cade" or "cupcakes" or "going for a hunt in the woods."  Instead, he paused, and nuzzled his sweet head closer to my neck, "When you carried me Mama."  My heart swelled.  "When I carried you where, honey?"  "Through the pasture.  When you carried me and held me in pasture."   Of all the exciting, fun things he did that day, walking through the pasture with me, as he climbed from my back to my shoulders to my hip, was his favorite thing.  A reminder that it's the simplest things that matter the most.   Like piggy back rides.  And late afternoon walks.  And little boys that still want to be held.  My Jack.  My wonderfully sweet,  three and a half year old, Jack.