The Days are Long, the Years Short

The number one piece of advice I heard from parents even before I became one is that the time with our young ones is fleeting and to treasure it while I can. I've tried to follow this advice very closely. It is one of those truly great pearls of wisdom. And, even while I've tried to daily be aware that this time is so very short, I still find myself putting my kids to bed nearly every night, ready to be done with the day. Nearly everyday, my mind and my energy are stretched to the limit. Many times, I complete the day feeling defeated. I question if I've done them right; if I should've/could've/would've done things differently if I'd stopped to remember this...the days are long, but the years are short. If I'd just faced all situations with that in the back of my mind, would I have reacted that way? Would I have ordered my days as I have? Would the television or cell phone have even been on? Would I have made more eye contact? Been more engaging in conversation?

Would I have had more adventures with the boys down by the tennis courts like we did last Friday? A day we needed the sunshine and fresh air so badly after Noah was sick for two days. It was a day when the house was in its usual state of Wreck but one where I didn't have an ounce of guilt over it. Because I knew I had not wasted that day on dusting, picking up or vacuuming. It was all about enjoying these short years with my boys.

Lately, I've been in a melancholy mood as I face Noah's departure from the preschool years and his entrance into elementary school. I feel no apprehension about his ability to do well in kindergarten or the quality of the school he will attend or any fears that this means that I, too, am growing older. Instead, my fear is that I've come to nearly six years with him and I wonder where the time went. One third of his life with us under one roof...gone. Poof. I wonder how much of it was wasted. I think, "Where is the reset button? I'm ready to do it right this time." Truthfully, even if I'd done it perfectly, I think I'd still be searching for that elusive reset button. No matter how I'd grade myself as a parent, pass or fail, my kids have exceeded all expectations with flying colors and I'd want to do it all over and over again.

As I watch both Noah and Tyler in fitness class, I'm well aware this is the last couple of weeks I'll be able to teach them. No longer will I have them for twenty minutes each Tuesday where I get to see their eyes light up because Mommy is their teacher. Everytime their classes come upstairs, I'm greeted by their huge smiles and love-filled shouts of, "Mommy!" I've made it a point lately to soak up their smiles and laughter as I get to watch them play in fitness. Their joy so refreshing, their gut-busting laughter so contagious. Lord, I thank you for the gift of teaching at their preschool.

And, speaking of preschool, today was Noah's first graduation practice. I stayed to help where I could but found it to be a struggle to keep the tears at bay. I could no longer stop them once they began singing. They sang some songs about the potential in them and about Jesus with them...and, oh yeah...weeping ensued.

My tear ducts opened and the tears rip-roared out of them. I had to leave so I could have a moment in the bathroom. And, if the ugly cry, complete with heaving sobs, red eyes and snotty nose is considered letting go, then, yeah, I let those tissues have it. I'm thankful they've got two more practices I can watch so I can practice staying composed during the real ceremony! And, if I don't, at least other parents can look and say, "Oh, that poor HORMONAL pregnant woman." In reality, surge of estrogen or not, this would've been a huge thing for me anyway.

I'm just not ready to let go of the preschool years. Such innocence in his curiosity, such fascination with the simple things, such unbridled love and joy. How long before he no longer says stuff like, "Hey! My weiner has a hole in it!" (yesterday) or how much longer will he chase me down for the third, fourth or fifth hug before he's mustered the courage to step fully into his classroom door (pretty much every Monday-Thursday)? How much longer will a rainbow make him jump and squeal (yesterday)? How many more kisses will he blow my way (five minutes ago)?

Please, God, let him still want to chase down butterflies this time next year. Please, God, let him still have the easiest laugh of anyone I know. He laughs at EVERYthing and always has. Please let him still make observations about the world he's still discovering. Observations that are totally wrong factually, but that are so very funny to hear. How much longer before he switches to "Mom" instead of "Mommy?" I love his tiny voice piping up from the backseat on our drives. I love that he loves to talk to me. And that the talk is nearly non-stop when we're in the car. How much longer will I have that? God, I love how his hand feels in mine. I'd like to hold onto it a bit, okay, a lot, longer.

Not to mention, ELEMENTARY school, the time when kids learn about the birds and the bees during snickered conversations on the playground. The years when their little ears pick up on words they've never heard before and they roll them around in their head before they try them out. The age when they start to notice the opposite sex and flirting begins a fleshly struggle for the next 18, 65 years until blindness and/or dementia set in. And, heaven help me, Noah will learn that "it" is not really called a weiner and "that" is really not called "something else."

Noah, there will never be enough words, they could never be worthy. You are in the core of my being and I consider it my greatest privilege to be called Mommy. To be called your Mommy. I will never have enough of you. Will never be ready to stop hearing your thought-provoking questions, will never tire of your fascination with the little things, will never be ready to stop hugging you when you get boo-boos, will never forget how you've added so much laughter because the way you see things, will never be ready to move past this precious time I have with you. I am so thankful for the honor of raising you and I pray God will help me release you into this new phase, knowing that we are all still a work in progress, knowing that I'll keep making mistakes and having regrets along the way, but that I don't have to fear.

Because I know you are in God's hands.

But, you can hold mine for a little longer, too. Okay?

And, it's time for another trip to the bathroom now. Darn, estrogen surge...