Friday, January 03, 2014

Tick tock

I just spent several hours painstakingly moving individual files of thousands (and thousands) of photos from an old computer to a very swanky external hard drive. I did this for hours until my 14 year old walked by and said, in his baritone, "You know you can just 'select all', right?"

Well. I DO NOW.

I am grateful for those hours though. Grateful for the thousands of moments where I sighed and smiled and silently wept over inches grown in the space between file folders, teeth lost and regrown before my eyes, and questionable fashion choices that have fallen by the wayside.

I remember when Justin would beg for stories in bed. Patrick and I would take turns during which we'd lie beside him and spin wild yarns about his stuffed animals, Bambi and Curly. The best stories were always the ones where Curly would cock his head to the side and then suddenly go ballistic on Bambi's head. He would laugh so long and full that he cried in joy.

The days of telling stories in bed beside sleepy children has long since passed. Our youngest doesn't ask for them. I wonder; did we ever offer?

It's so quiet in the house right now, and we're all actually in it. When did this happen? When did the moments of silence lose their rarity?

Corinne was rambling in the back seat of the van last night, "I'm 8 years old. In another 8 years, I'll be 16! And Daddy will be 50 and you will be 45 and Justin will be 23 and Evan will be 19!"

I complimented her math skills.

Inside, I felt it like a bucket of water on my heart.

8 years is a slip of time. A whisper of a moment or two and then...

In 10 years, all of my children will be adults. It's happening and I am not ready. I have never been ready for their inevitable pulling away and divergence but it's happening. It's occurring and I feel like somehow, I am missing something. I'm forgetting to teach some lesson or skill or value and it's nearly too late, but I haven't even studied...
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