Mortality

I've never actually come right out and said so, I don't believe, but this blog (and this life) is in part about mortality.
I don't mean immortality, as in "let my thoughts forever be heard".
I mean mortality, in a very somber and rather morbid sense.

First of all, I want my children to know me should I leave them. (I'm not ill, of course, or expecting to be whisked away by anything or anyone.) I think since it's probably my greatest fear, to leave my children unloved by their mother, and so unimaginably deniable and painful, I have a need to kick its ass by living my best life with my children. It so takes my breath away and leaves me so soul-stricken (the thought of it) that I have a need to make it go away by taking away its power.

What a screwy thought.

The second (and far more practical) mortality thought is that we all know that the moments flit by like dandelion blossoms, and before we know it, the moment -the childhood- is over.
And I love the moments.
I want all of them.
I want to smile a dozen times a day when that cute boy shares a thought with me. I want to be able to sigh over the way my daughter just said "thank you" in the middle of the night when I gave her a drink of cool water. I want to hear and smile over her saying "shews and hocks." I want to hear "I need you to warmth me a little." and "Daddy's home!" in that ecstatic way they say it.
I don't want to forget the moments. I don't want to give them away to someone else. (teachers, daycare providers, babysitters)
I'm selfishly guarding and cherishing them.

They're my moments, my loves, and my bliss.