Have you ever captured a lightning bug?
You know, put it in a glass jar and pounded some air holes in the lid and hope it stays alive because you want it on your nightstand for your new pet?
Or have you ever pulled your not-quite-sleeping kids out of their beds to see the backyard light up with tiny bright sparks of yellow "fire"?
There's something magical about those tiny flying sparks of light...like the magic of childhood.
Fleeting, too fast; the sparks of light gone before you're done watching, just like your babies who suddenly aren't babies anymore. Their childhood is fleeting, the innocence gone. Those days before school friends were made, and plans for future days to be had. The days of sweetness; of chubby hands clasped tightly around your finger and forever around your heart; the sweet smell of your baby's soft curls right after her bedtime bath; the days where mama is your world and papa is your sole playmate; the days when your lap is a safe haven and home is the favorite; these days sometimes never ending yet all at once are just...gone, a mere memory; and knowledge that this moment in time is just like a firefly's light...burning so brightly for a moment; a flash.
Blink, and it's gone.