so willow lost his first tooth today. It's a tiny little thing, small enough to be lost in the bedclothes and definitely small enough to fall down between the cracks in our floorboards. So, after taking very good care of that little tooth, soaking it all day in a little container of water (it fell out before school, thank heavens, or we'd have never seen the thing again), placing it in a little envelope with the addressee written clearly on the front, losing it momentarily when it was taken out for one last look, and finally placing it under a special little pillow to be exchanged for monetary gifts overnight, the stage was set for the magic to happen. And that's when the penny dropped, so to speak.
A teary mr willow comes out from his bed, all heart broken over the thought of having to part with his first tooth and never seeing it again. So, whilst holding back the tears myself, I reassure him that he can keep his tooth if he really wants to. That the tooth fairy already has enough teeth to build her little house with, and besides, I'm sure plenty of other kids in the world have lost teeth today, and I'm sure she won't miss this one teensy tiny little one. So off we go and find a special little box to keep this little tooth in, and the tears are wiped away and it's decided that it's probably a good idea to keep it anyway, in case one ever needs a spare, and the little tooth is placed in there and made secure, out of reach of the jasper. So then we're all ready for bed again, well almost. Of course, an apology letter has to be written to the tooth fairy, because it's important that she not be offended in any way. That little note is under the special pillow, and we're awaiting her reply.
But not once does that boy worry about the money that he won't be getting for that tooth which is so precious to him. Because for that boy, it's not about the money, it's about the magic. And for that, I am so grateful.
So now, tucked away in the corner of my sock drawer, in a special little box with a lid that's just a little bit hard to get off (all the better for keeping it safe, I say), is a tiny little tooth that I think we will get out every now and then and just look at and remember when.
this boy, he's so very busy. Always doing something. I hear those little feet pattering along on the floorboards and I think, here he comes, the mischief maker. I can tell straight away which boy it is, just by the sound of his footsteps. There's fin, with his slow and steady walk, like that of an adult, almost. Nearly nine now, a big boy. Then there's willow, usually ambling along on all fours, planet of the apes style. Always the entertainer. And then there's jasper, running along. Fast little close together steps that say "here I come".
he's a climber, this boy. Maybe it's from being surrounded by so many people who are much bigger than him, but he always has to be standing on something, seeing what's going on up there. He will climb on anything, and if there is nothing to climb on, he will go and get something and drag it over so he can climb up. Always the high chair, dragging along on the floorboards and making that lovely squeaky sound. Music to my ears.
always looking, touching, pointing, talking. So determined to do things on his own. Ah, boy number three, so much to learn from so many teachers.
fortunately, big days make for big sleeps. We're still in the blissful stage of the afternoon nap, something his brothers had long given up by this stage. Sometimes people ask me how I manage to get any sewing at all done, well this is how. In little two-hourly blocks, every so often. And I have learnt that the sound of his little cry means scissors down, until next time. Because it will still be there tomorrow. There's no hurry.
pottering about in the garden;
laying some new paving;
exploring new pathways;
cutting oh-so-many flags for bunting. I've lost count;
and, on a completely unrelated note, two new skirts in the 
