Tonight, as I prepared Ewan’s room for him to get ready for bed, I walked over to his window to shut the blinds. He has a west-facing window and the afternoon light just pours right in. He also has the best view in the house: the mountains.

When we first moved to Colorado, I have to tell you that I felt so cheated, every day. I knew that there was at least thirty minutes left in every sunset that those darn mountains cut off. But then I started to notice the sunset. The rays of light that spray out of every peak when that fat sun dips down below the ridge. How it makes the clouds explode when they hang on to that light. And the colors! I don’t know if any camera could ever capture those.

But tonight, it was bedtime and I couldn’t linger. Ewan was rubbing his eyes and shaking a book at me, so I scooped him up to sit in the rocking chair a while and read about dogs (he’s nuts about dogs). After his story, he settled right in on my left shoulder and I sang to him. A lot. I sang about Buffalo Bill, Goldie Goldfish, staying awake, growing up, twinkling stars, buying him a mocking bird, and then I think I started over. And when I would stop, he would hum and wiggle his little rear end up and down in that little dance that he does.

We both became quiet for a while, and I watched as his room turned into a golden glow and then dark. By this time he had moved over into the bend of my right elbow and turned so sweetly in, letting his mouth open a little bit so little snores could escape.

Oh how I melt.

How many times will I think of this moment as he grows up? Remembering when he was little enough to cradle. Thinking about his hair smelling like lavender and his skin bathed with buttermilk lotion. Counting how many penguins and snowmen and mountains are on his pj’s. Wondering how his feet, once so fat and squishy, could ever fit into real shoes.

I feel a little shattered in these moments.

I laid him down in his crib and snuck out, only to be tackled in the hallway by Holden. Holy cow did I have to switch gears and fast. In the loudest whisper known to man, he said, “We made COOKIES! And it’s time to eat them with milk!!!”

He was almost frantic about it. But then again, I get somewhat crazy-eyed when there are warm cookies in the kitchen, too. So I raced him downstairs. Of course, I won. (Hey, I don’t mess around when there are cookies involved. Some lessons are hard learned, little man.)

Well, might I add that Holden served those cookies up with all the intensity that he is? Made them all the more yummy, too.

First, there was the smell test. Almost burned this top lip on the cooking stone…this would have been a worthy scar.

And then the serving up of the first cookie…

which was still hot to touch. Plan B.

And the up-and-under technique. Yes, I myself have used this many times.

SUCH an honor to receive the first, mutilated cookie.

Then he schooled me with his dunking technique.

What a good looking milk cup – just look at those chocolate remnants.

The scraping of the plate to get every last tasty morsel.

And just a little bit of finger licking.

Not a bad way to end the day. Not bad at all. And neither is this: Hank’s new techno-toy.

I don’t know which one makes my mouth water more: iPad or cookies. Maybe I should have another cookie, just to find out…