For the times they are a-changin'

I once read that one of the oddest things about life is that you never really know when a new phase of life is going to start.  Days drag into days, and into weeks, and into years, and every day seems exactly like the day before it.  Then all of a sudden, your tiny frog-legged baby is having a baby of his own.  It's crazy, right?

I remember being a little girl and asking to ride on my uncle's shoulders for the one hundred and bazillionth time. Sometimes he said Yes, and sometimes he said Not now, and sometimes he said Just for a little bit and...well, you get the picture.  But I remember walking home from the zoo, past the crummy camping grounds that used to be along that stretch of the road, and he said No.  And I was feeling grumpy because he'd been saying No for a really long time.  I couldn't remember the last time he said Yes.

And that's when it hit me.

Things were different now. 

I was growing up.  It would never be the same as it was before ever again.

And I was sad.

Really, really sad.

Sometimes you can prepare for the changes.  You know when Kindergarten starts and when you get your driver's license and when you go to college.  Those are big and they are important and I will probably be a blubbering wreck when my kids do all of those things.

But it's the things I can't prepare for, that I don't see coming, or that I do see coming but don't know when they will come...it's those things that really grab me by the throat.

Today I took my boys to the park.  And they ran and they screamed and they climbed on everything in sight.  And I realized that I had been there, watching and standing and laughing.  And that was it.   I didn't carry anyone up the stairs, or help anyone over a wobbly bridge, or guide any clumsy feet down a slide.  They could do it without me all by themselves.

Oh sure, I still need to issue the occasional regular warnings about not throwing rocks or not climbing on things that aren't meant for climbing or not wrestling random kids at the park, but my role is shifting from that of a constant helper to more of a guide, a coach, a trainer.

A friend once told me that for the first 12-18 months after her second child was born, she mostly focused on keeping her kids alive.  I totally get that.  Somewhere in the recesses of my memory there is a shadow of myself screaming, No, don't put that in the baby's mouth!  He can't eat goldfish!  She said that eventually it changed.  She said that eventually her kids played together, and everything became so much easier.

In those first months of having two kids to care for, I clung to her words.  She said it would get easier.  She said I wouldn't always think about just surviving this day.  She said.  She said. She said.

And you know what?  She was right.

I don't know when, but eventually I stopped worrying that the toddler would poke out the baby's eyes if I had the audacity to take a shower.  Soon enough I was able to put food on their plates and eat my own lunch with both hands.  And one day I realized that these two little people, whom I've loved on and fretted over for two lifetimes, love each other back.

And that is awesome.  So so so awesome.  There really is nothing greater than hearing the sound of two people whom you love share a deep, deep belly laugh.

And I am so excited to see what the next chapter holds.

But it's strange, these days of autumn.  Every time I go outside, I breathe as deeply as I can and notice how the sun feels warm and toasty on my skin.  These days are numbered.  I won't know the last time I go outside in my flip-flops, or the last time we run to the store without jackets, or when the days of playing at the park are through until spring.  I know it is coming; I don't know when.  But I know that I have it today.  And I am grateful.

So today, I challenge you.  I challenge you to look at your life, at your day, and find one thing that brings you joy.


And be grateful.


Soak it in.


Breathe deeply.


Cherish this moment.