The summer when they were three

As all seems to be progressing well in our purchase of a new house, this is probably the last summer we will spend in this one.  The season somewhat unofficially ended on Friday.  I went into work to get my classroom organized, and the kids went to their child care center and started in the preschool classroom.  They're in the same building with the same kids, some they've known since they were four months old.  But they're in a new room with new teachers and no diapers.  Big kids.

I'm going to miss this summer, the PB&J roll-ups at the picnic table after gymnastics and the remarkable disappearing act that a pint of blueberries can perform in one sitting.  I'm going to miss tricycles in driveway circles and serving up lattes (water) and bagels (pretend) from the deck stairs.  I'll miss the jump-hugs Michael has perfected that nearly knock me over and Sophie's daily need like mine for socks before getting snuggly-wuggly with stories before nap.  I'm going to miss the library mid-morning and driving to have lunch with Grammie while listening to Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree.  Silly old bear.

I'm going to miss the summer when Michael and Sophie were three, just like I mourned the ones that came before. I know this ache well now, and I know it tends to soften as summer gives way to fall, and we fill our time together with a new season's worth of memories.