I find myself looking at life now from a slightly, but importantly altered vantage point. Now when I get motioned over by Oliver's teacher to debrief about his day (and we only debrief on those less-than-enchanting days, it seems), though my stab of annoyance with this spirited child still struggling for that elusive self-control isn't vanished entirely, I feel an awareness of his beautiful vibrance blanketing the lie he told about kicking his friends' lunch box as it sat - innocently - on the floor. I hate that my little boy told a lie, but I'm conscious today - first - of the enormity of his joy. I hope I don't forget anytime soon that these days are fleeting. I hope I don't forget to see my wonderful child before I see the fib he tells.