H is for... Handholding

On Sunday morning, I drove my eldest to church for his religious education class.  It was just the two of us and, as we were walking across the lawn to the church, chatting about nothing consequential, I felt a small hand slip into mine.  And it made my heart smile.
It's the simple things like this that make me happy.  Especially since I know that I'll only have that feeling for a small amount of time.  Before long, he'll be embarrassed to hold my hand.  He'll be a teen and not want to embarrass himself in front of his friends.  He'll feel that he won't need the warm-blanket security that comes from holding on to your Mom's hand.  He'll try to go it alone without much input from me.  And by the time he'll want to slip his hand into mine again, it will be so much bigger, not nearly as soft.  It will be a growing man's hand instead of a little boy's hand.  These are things that I know as well as if I could see the future.
So I take these moments of happiness as I can.  I revel in the trust is engendered by that simple action.  I feel protective, loving.  I feel like I am the world for this boy, and I'm glad that, for a time, I can be that for him.  Because that's what a Mommy should be.

Treasure these memories while you can