Milestones.

Instead of milestones, I used to dwell too much on "lasts." One night will be the last night he wants me to sing him the ABC song and tuck him in. One day she will not be so eager to do ... well, everything. One day, one day.

I'm kind of a Debbie Downer. Or, I can be. I fight the tendency with a little help from my friends, who see things so much clearer than I do on a pretty standard basis. They are master redirectors, pep talkers, empathizers. How I fell in with them in the first place I'll never know. For a long time I suspected them of some hidden agenda, but I've pretty much let my guard down and no one has yet poisoned my drink. (Unless they're doing it slowly, the better to watch me suffer.) Ha! I kid!

Milestones abound in these parts of late. Alexander the Kirk is reading, really reading, books at a steady clip. That happened overnight and it still takes my breath away.

Princess Katherine is trying to crawl but has so far only succeeded in finding reverse gear. Tonight we found her head sticking out from under the couch. She had backed the rest of her trying-to-be-reasonably-mobile body under the couch. Oh YES I got pictures! And because she's one of the happiest babies in the world, she wasn't a bit concerned about her predicament but found it hilarious.

Other milestones: Alex bikes without training wheels. We finally realized we just had to let go and he'd get it, and he did! There were a few "I'm never going to be able to do it" meltdowns, a few threats to skip the infamously bratty birthday child's party completely, one or two discussions about how training wheels are not the mark of failure and will not doom him to the entire school's contempt, but in the end it didn't matter, because he got it. Debbie Downer SMILED.

Katherine eats peas. Regular ones, like what we're having, as long as I mush them up and look away so I don't have to witness the messy struggle that ensues as she tries to command her motor skills to not only grasp a squished pea in her tight little fist, but bring it to her mouth and then -- this is the tricky part -- OPEN, so that she can use her tongue to maneuver it inside. And then we all hope it stays there instead of falling out when she realizes she's succeeded and opens her mouth wide to grin at us (See what I did? See? See what I-- oh.) PLUNK. It's almost painful to watch. Minus the almost.

I'm staying busy and fighting the procrastination bug, which has been scarce since I had a real job (oops, an office job) ... because what was I going to procrastinate? But now there's daily work and longer-term deadlines, and I'm learning to juggle them all. A roll of duct tape is at the ready for that nagging voice that tells me none of this is a promise, none of it is forever.

Because nothing is. But I'm practicing living in the day, in the hour, in the moment. When you don't do that things happen too fast. Like your babies start riding bikes and crawling under couches, and you missed it because you were lost in the what-ifs of the future. I can't do that right now. I won't.

To borrow and paraphrase a phrase from the late, great Lost, what happens, happens.

All we have to do is be here when it does.