"Don't You Need to Take My Picture?"

This kid.

Last night, while the bath tub was filling and Sister was running around, this kid told me that when he was a grown-up he used to drive Daddy's truck, but now he's a kid and he has to let Daddy drive it. Then he climbed up on the potty, gave me a look that was half Elvis, half deep contemplation, and said, "Mama, don't you need to take my picture?"

While he was on the potty.

And then he waited, thoughtful Elvis with drawers around his ankles, for me to get my camera.

Oh, Bubba, when you get on to me right around your high school graduation for having all these delightful pictures of you, let the record show that you asked me to take them (well, most of them... this one for sure).

How many more moments will I get like this- the innocence, the contentment, the openness? Never mind if they cause a bit of a blush in later years, those rosy cheeks will be well worth it if these moments can be saved, in some form, so that they're never forgotten.

And so, I grab my camera. I make little notes. I happily log these fleeting days, and I tell myself not to let too many slip by without notice... and I quietly wish that if ever I come close to missing something important, I'll be reminded with, "Mama, don't you need to take my picture?"