Hello Everyone

I'm Mimi, Brayden's grandma.I keep up his blog (sometimes not so good oops...) Soon, He'll grow to call me Mimi some day, and I can't wait to hear it, but the growing part is what I want to talk about.
This is for you Ashley & Erik, and whoever else cares to read it.

Time is precious. When I was young, it seemed time ticked by day in and day out in such a hurry that there was no 'time' to notice the passing hours. The days fell away one upon the other like a house of cards tumbling silently to the table.

The babies came and grew and time still slipped away. A life full of little things, like; laundry, bathtimes, breakfast, lunch and dinners..then the toys to pick up and bedrooms to clean, it was never ending. Sometimes I thought to myself "will this ever end?"...but it did end. In the blink of an eye my babies were grown. What did I miss? What didn't I do?
What I missed was the time. The hours and minutes of each day spent with my babies could have been spent better, I'm sure of it.
Oh sure, we played and sang and did things together, but I'm sure I could have done more, if I had not worried so much about the 'little things'. The little things take up so much time, time taken away from the 'babies'.
I'm not telling you not to do the little things, they have to be done. But I am saying this; Take time away from the little things, to play with the little ones. You'll never regret it.
There was a poem written many years ago by Ruth Hamilton. Most people only know of the last verse, but here's the whole poem. Enjoy it, read it well and heed what it says.


Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).
The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo.
But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958