It was the final night of swimming lessons and the boys were dressed in their suits, ready to go. We were supposed to drop Cricket off at volleyball a few minutes early in order to make it to the pool on time. It was all part of a coordinated dance to get everyone where they were supposed to be without forgetting a knee pad in the car or leaving the post-swim underwear back home on the bedroom floor (oh, I hate that one). I was watching the clock, postponing our departure until the very last minute allowing us to savor our home time which seems to be so rare these days. In the other room, I heard Sport digging through the toy bin. I saw discarded matchbox cars tossed through the air, old books cast aside and plastic dinosaurs tumble to the floor. I heard a jubilant shout when he found the paratrooper and chute that he was looking for. The other kids gathered around him excitedly and shared memories of the trooper’s amazing adventures (particularly the crazy battle where he lost his head). Sport quickly ran up the stairs and launched the little guy over the railing watching him sail down gracefully. The kids took turns launching and catching the paratrooper then soon started adding accoutrements to his chute. We belly laughed at the mighty trooper sailing down with army guys, chickadees, and Barbie shoes hanging off the sides of his gear. I was aware that time was slipping by but athletics seemed far from my mind. Right there it was clear that when they are grown and gone, they won’t remember the days when they went to practice…they will remember the days like that when they missed it.