Recently I realized that little Hans no longer eats every small thing he sees.
It’s a great relief of course. No longer do I have to -- in terror over some small something ending up lodged in his throat -- quite-so-strictly monitor everything that ends up on the floor or insist on a maximum size any time the kids pull out toys. He can wander around outside without eating small leaves and sticks. And there is a good chance that he won’t fill his mouth with sand at Bear Lake this year!
Still, if Hansie no longer puts every small thing into his mouth, that surely means . . . someday there won’t be birthday signs taped up all over the kitchen cabinets 11 times a year. There might not be sets of scriptures on the stairway every Sunday after church – waiting for their respective owners to return them to their rooms. There won’t be library books stacked by the fireplace, diapers and wipes taking up all the space in the bottom drawer of my nightstand, a stack of school books and homework on the corner of the counter closest to the sliding-glass door, and every bathroom running out of toilet-paper every day. There’s even a chance that someday there won’t be little rainbow cups (labeled with blue tape and a sharpie) lining the ledge above the kitchen sink.
Which would be something to think about I suppose. If I actually believed it to be true. But I don’t. Not really. There will always be bottles drying on the sink ledge, and toys lining the floor of the tub in our master bathroom, and kids bringing in our chickens’ eggs, and Nerf bullets in all our bushes, and dry cereal spilled in the pantry.
Even if Hansie did stop eating wood chips at the park.