Slowing Things Down

Whenever grown-ups would say things like, “It seems like it was just yesterday…” I would roll my eyes.  I couldn’t grasp the concept.  Well to steal their sentiment, it seems like it was only yesterday that I had this brand new baby girl in my arms, letting a day just fall away while I stared at her in utter amazement.  And suddenly, all in a week’s time, Sean and I found ourselves sitting in the audience of a dance recital and a preschool graduation.  And more than once I have caught myself literally wiping the tears that start streaming down my face; I can’t help but take in the fact that that same baby girl is five and finishing up all of the things that a year ago, made her seem like a real little kid, and now, make her seem too old.  How can it be that we are here already?  Her first year of dance over, two years of preschool coming to a close, and her first foray in organized sports winding down; it’s going too fast.  I feel like I’m losing her.

Now I know, this seems a tad over dramatic but hear me out.  These first, precious, five years, when we have been the center of her little world are behind us and, ahead of her, all of these new little people that over time will come to mean just as much if not more to her.  Their opinions will be the ones she will hear loud and clear, sometimes drowning out our voices in her head telling her all of the good things a mom and dad desperately try to convince their little ones of.  She will go to school in September, and that will be where most of the best things in her day will happen, and I can only hope she’ll want me to know about it all.  And, as pathetic as it sounds, I won’t be her “best friend” anymore.  I can’t be; the introduction of all of these outsiders will force me to take off the “friend” hat for good (or at least for the next thirteen-ish years) and be her mom-the one she will direct all of her frustration at, the one that will ruin a perfectly good time because I worry too much or assume too much.  Don’t get me wrong-it has to be done and so I will step into that role willingly-if for no other reason than to do my part to ensure I am not sending an a**hole out into the world, but it still makes me sad. 

And so, this week I found myself wishing time would slow down so I could do a better job of taking it all in.  Willing myself not to get frustrated at the little things: the tantrums, the willfulness.  I did my best to stop and absorb the things that may stop in the coming years: the way she touches my face or asks me how my day is, unsatisfied if I don’t offer up enough detail.   I watched this little girl who, quite literally, dances like no one is watching or can’t imagine anyone laughing at her for it or sings louder than any of the other children, not even a hint of self-consciousness and I offered up a silent prayer to whoever listens to the pleas of a mama on the edge ‘Please don’t let the world ruin her. Don’t let it take this from her.’

Whether it was heard or not, she danced her little heart out and performed the songs, complete with the sign-language I didn’t know she knew, with an unrestrained joy that made my eyes leak and my heart feel so full.

Sean is away this weekend on his golf annual with the men of my family and so, as Kennedy says every five minutes, it’s a girl’s weekend for us! I hope she’ll always be this happy to spend a weekend home with me.  We have some much needed sunshine and heat coming our way so I already know that the days will bring lots of time outside, with dirty knees and feet, but a whole lot of smiles too. 

I am doing my best to slow this time with her down; this last summer before I have to let her go and allow her to begin to build a little life outside of her family.  I will squeeze out every last drop of it that I can and that this big baby bump will allow for.

That being said it’s my last week of work for the school year and it can’t end soon enough.  So next week; I will slow it all down next week.

The House That Built Us

I will start this post with an overly sad, sentimental song that has looped through my head for the last few months:

                                          

Any time I think about my parents moving away from the home they have lived in for the last 30 years, literally all of my entire life, I hear these lyrics.  This past weekend we travelled down to Long Island to my childhood, perhaps for the last time, to take some pictures there for my parents. 

Now, last week didn’t end as great as it started and so I was already pretty emotionally drained.  There are certain instances I try to mentally prepare for.  Well, let’s be honest: I’m a planner and so I literally try to plan for EVERYTHING.  It’s unrealistic and ultimately causes a whole lot more stress than it eases but I digress.  A coworker stopped by with her new baby, everyone (totally understandably) went nuts oohing and ahhing, and I lost it, which only made me feel like a bad person for not saying hi or acknowledging her new little muffin, but I just couldn’t hold myself together.  And so, making my way down to sleep at “my” house, maybe one last time, seemed all the more emotional. 

Truly, we had a great time there.  We stayed up late laughing with my parents and woke up early, laughing with each other.  We swam in the pool that was put in far too late for us older kids to fully take advantage of and enjoy but that our kids can’t get enough of.  We put the kiddos down for naps, fingers crossed that they would sleep long enough to ensure there were no meltdowns.  Turns out, there isn’t a nap long enough to make that a guarantee.

By the time everyone had his or her acts together, dressed, groomed, and otherwise presentable it was already exhausting.  We were down one brother and one brother-in-law; you’d have an easier time staging a coup in North Korea than you would trying to organize a time when 6 adult children and their spouses and children can come together at the exact same moment.  As best we could, we made it happen. 

When Sean, Kennedy and I sat down for our family shots my little bug refused to cooperate and sit where she was asked.  I was convinced we wouldn’t get one good picture of us.  Really, the truth is, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I will never have a complete family photo.  Not ever, and it was heartbreaking to think about.  The amazingly patient photographer snapped away, we bickered in between poses as only a family can do; there were tantrums and tears and an abundance of snacks meant to placate cranky toddlers. 

When it was all said and done we were drained- every single one of us.  I watched my parents pose together on the porch of a home they quite literally built to raise their six children in.  I watched my sister sit with her boys on the steps we took her wedding pictures on.  My brother sat with his wife and daughter on the porch he would storm off of angrily years ago and the one he returned to much more put together years later.  I saw boys that used sit and wait for the ice cream man to pass when they swore they may have hear his bell about 12 miles away.  Sean and I sat on the steps he used to pick me up for dates on the summers between semesters of college. 

A house can hold so much history, good and bad.  There is a lot in that house.  The house served it's purpose.  It provided as good a home most people can hope for in life.  Everyone is sad to let it go, no one more than my mom and dad.  A little surprisingly, I believe I am a close second.  This truly is the house that built me.  Maybe not so much the house itself but the life that began there, making me strong enough to be able to attempt to live the life that is now laid before me; a life missing a very big part from it.  

While his little face maybe never be in any our family pictures, Jack’s presence was definitely there that day.  When we got the pictures back, it was like magic.  The sun was incredible, everyone looked so happy, and it was like his big sister knew to leave a space for him; a space between Sean and me that will always be filled with an enormous amount of love and a little sadness mixed in there too.

Happy birthday to the love of my life.  Thank you for taking such good care of your girls.