I expect a lot of my big kids sometimes.  I expect them to do their chores and do their school work.  (yes, even in the summer)  I expect them to behave at church and to be thoughtful in their prayers.  I expect them to watch over their little brother safely while I take a shower or make up dinner.  I expect them to treat each other kindly and to behave when I give them directions.

Now, I don't expect that they will always do exactly what I expect them to do.  I get that they are kids.  Sometimes the chores are poorly done.  Sometimes they whine and sometimes they throw a fit.  Sometimes they think that letting Jason balance on a chair is good fun.  Sometimes they fight.  I'm not worried about any of that.  I have my good and bad moments too, just like they do.

What I do tend to forget is just how young they are.  The twins still beg me to sing to them at night.  They insist on at least 5 hugs and kisses because the first 4 were not properly done.  Austin and Alaina both want to be tucked in, and although they don't make a big deal about it, without fail, they snuggle up to their special bears.

Ethan, being so much older and mature, pretends indifference when I come to sing to him.   'Sure,' he shrugs... 'if you want to,' he'll mutter when I ask to put him to bed.  Then, as the song starts he puts out his arms to be scratched and maybe turns to his belly so I can rub his back.  When I ask for my hug he gives a half hearted, limp armed lean.  When I shout out how lame of a hugger he is and demand a better attempt, he giggles and gives me a long, tight, bear hug.  If we are have an especially lovey dove night, he'll ask me to squish him.

Squish him, you ask?  Well, when I was a little girl I shared a room with Gina.  She is six years older than me and so after I was already sound asleep, she'd come in and roll all over me, complaining, 'Why is my bed so bumpy?!!  What is wrong with this old bumpy bed?  I need to smooth it out!"  As she smashed and smoothed me flat, she'd throw a pillow over my head and try to sleep on it.  Only after being squished awake and barely able to grunt out a muffled, 'It's Me!!!!' did she pick up the pillow that she had smashed over my face and with a surprised voice say, 'Christy!  What are you doing in my bed?'

Once I told Ethan the story and after a demonstration, it became the 'Squishing' routine.  A sure sign of love.

Each night, after I close the doors to my children's rooms, I trudge down the hall, for what is usually my 6th try.  Tonight when I got to my room, I sat down on my bed and realized that although I expect so much maturity from them during the day, I also expect this tender, childish routine every night.  I expect the sugar and silliness.  I expect to hear their sweet prayers and feel their arms tighten around my neck when I try to leave.  I expect the wet kisses on my cheek and chorus of 'I love you's at night.

What I don't expect and I don't want to expect is that sometime sooner than I want, the doors will close tight before I come to say goodnight.  What will I do when they push me instead of pull me to them?  I dread the day that they are too cool to hear me sing to them and the attention they really want is from their friends at school.  Since I can hardly even face the idea of them growing independent of me, I refuse to acknowledge the possibility.  So, instead, I'm just going to enjoy every evening ritual and pretend that our nights will forever be spent the same way.  Possibly not the most realistic approach, but certainly the most bearable.  While I'm at it, I might as well squeeze in as many 'Squishings' as I can get away with...