I've switched or reformatted my computer for something like the sixth time in the last three years. And so, my files are a jumbled mess of nested folders labeled really helpful things like "January 2012 Crash Dump" which would include everything on that particular desktop at that moment, right before it was moved refugee-style to a temporary external hard drive and then dropped onto a new desktop with grand plans to reshuffle and organize. Six moves means it's a big mess and I really should get to it. Especially since I've got a presentation coming up and I need to find some pictures. What is it they say? Necessity is the mother that gives you a swift kick in the tookis.
And I might be making some head-way if it weren't for files filled with photos like this.
That's a not-quite three-year-old Jack at Balboa Park in San Diego. Younger by more than half of Ian's age right now. He was still in Nursery at church. Look at those bright eyes. And those little teeth. And those apple cheeks. And that silky-fine curly hair.
And Ian was almost exactly a year away. We were getting impatient.
That kid in the back? The one pushing Jack? The blurry pre-photobombs photobomber? That little kid was six--Ian's age exactly. That little kid is now as tall as me and at 14, babysits for us once a week. He still makes the kids laugh outloud.
My heart hurts.
And I feel old.
And feeling old reminds me that I'm forgetful. Now what was I doing?