moments i want to remember

I want to remember what it's like these days to wait on the stoop for Garrett's school bus, the way Garrett makes Caleb laugh by tossing around icy snowball "wocks," the way Caleb holds my hand so he can walk up and down the three steps leading to the front door over and over and over, and the way it has just recently dawned on Caleb that he doesn't get to ride the school bus, too, and so throws a writhing fit the entire way back inside.

I want to remember the look on Caleb's face the first time he wore the handed down pair of squeaky shoes, the way he grinned with absolute awe as he walked up and down the length of the apartment.

I want to remember the morning Garrett helped me make cookies and the way he dipped his fingers in flour before rolling the "chocolate playdough" into a ball and stuffing the Rolo candy inside it, as well as how proud he was of himself for helping to make something that tasted so good. I want to remember how we had to make sure we didn't step on the Legos and toy food that Caleb had strewn all over the kitchen floor, and the way Caleb, after he had moved on to different toys, wandered in and out of the room wearing a toy stethoscope around his neck and checking for the heartbeat of various non-living objects.

I want to remember the day Garrett salvaged a bit of dark purple yarn from a school art project and cut it into pieces with his scissors -- and how, later, when those tiny pieces of string had found their way all over the floor, he freaked out about the "spiders" that were suddenly everywhere.

I want to remember the time when, even though both boys were playing nicely together in their bedroom, Caleb still somehow got hurt, and how Garrett, with whooshing and smoothing sound effects, applied an invisible magic band-aid on his brother's boo-boo. I want to remember how this actually cured Caleb so they could both go back to their playing.

I want to remember the afternoon we were walking home past the yard of a nearby church, how Garrett spied a squirrel and desperately wanted to feed it the acorn he picked up specifically to do so. I want to remember how the frightened squirrel scurried away and hid in a place where Garrett, for the life of him, couldn't see him, and how he told me he'd "buh back" as he walked up and down the sidewalk desperately searching through the wrought iron fence for that hiding squirrel and saying to himself, "Where is it? Is gone! Where is it? I no find it. Oh no."

I want to remember how sweet Caleb looks when he, after much effort, climbs into the rocking chair with his dolly and toy baby bottle, and how he gently rocks and feeds it. I want to remember how seriously he takes his job of mothering his little plastic baby.