A more introspective entry today.

I used to sing little songs to the boys when they were tiny, just little things about their day or about themselves.

One I had, particular to Thing Two, to the tune of Bob Dylan's "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands," went like this:

"Brown eyes baby, in the carseat,
Brown eyes baby, he is mommy's boy..."

And he thought it was just marvelous that he had a song, just for him, just about him, his own little something in a world where everything had to be shared.


A few days ago I was strapping him in to his carseat and began to hum the song, just out of habit, when he said, "No sing, Mommy, I big boy, not baby, no sing." So I stopped, perhaps abruptly, buckled him in and kissed his little head.

But I had to wait a minute before I started driving.  I leaned my head against the side of the van for a minute, and I just wondered, will they remember these little special songs? Will I forget? And for a second I could hear all the songs echoing around in my head and I realized how bittersweet it is to let go of their dependence on me. It's harder than I thought it would be, to watch the "Mommy Years" begin to fade.

So I will put away their songs- songs are not to be shared, after all- and make up a few for the new baby. But I will always miss, and suspect I will always remember, those little songs, those little moments that shaped so much of their babyhood for me.

"Should I leave them by your gate, or brown eyes baby, should I wait..."