Knot in my stomach, lump in my throat

Today's 100 words:

I woke up this morning with a knot in my stomach as I thought once again about how quickly my kids, especially my son, are growing up. It's kindergarten registration time here, and the fact that he'll be in school all day after this summer makes me want to cry. I wish I could stop the days from passing so quickly. I don't want to miss a moment, and while sometimes I can push my sadness aside, as my son gets closer to finishing preschool and grows bigger and stronger each day, I can't help the lump in my throat...

Giving thanks

Today's 100 words:

Yesterday was our four-year-old son's first-ever Thanksgiving program. He stood with his class at the front of the gym, arms to his sides, a little nervous or self-conscious, I think, and sang two songs. I snapped pictures while Daddy videotaped, and every time the flash went off, our son would slide his eyes away from the teacher and toward mine.

I can't even begin to describe how incredibly proud I am of my smiling little boy and how hard it is to believe that the baby I brought home from the hospital is already so big.

Since my family and I will be traveling over the holiday, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving and extend a huge thank you for reading my blog! I'll be back and posting on Friday or Saturday.

Too fast

Today's 100 words:

I've taken to measuring the passage of time by the gasoline needs of our car. Every two weeks--on Thursdays, to be precise--I have to fill the tank. Those are, of course, "normal" weeks in which we don't do any extra driving, just our usual trips to the grocery store, the library, storytime, church, and preschool. The two weeks seem to pass by so quickly, and when I let myself think about it, I realize that my children are two weeks older, then two more weeks, then two more... They're growing up before my eyes--and before I'm ready.

Hands

This morning's 100 words:

I watched my four-year-old son as he slept this morning, tapping his fingers against his sheet as though he were dreaming of playing a piano, and I realized for the first time how big his hands have gotten--how long his fingers, how wide his palms--and I thought of the plaster plaque I helped him make for Daddy when he was two and how that no matter how much he tries--we try--his now-hand and his then-hand could never share that plaster space again: my little boy growing up so very fast.

100 words on children growing up

Autumn cooled the air this morning, its chilly blast creeping through my bedroom window, sending me scurrying for warm clothes. Afterward, I rocked my two-year-old, enjoying her warmth and thankful that she's still willing to cuddle, that I'm still her world. It hurts my heart to think that one day my children might shun me as I try to kiss them or run from my open arms. My four-year-old hugs me when I drop him off at preschool, and I want to cling to him, knowing that my days of being number one aren't forever.

Fragile

As I watched TV last night, relaxing after a hectic day, it occurred to me that soon--too soon--that very moment would be at most a distant memory, at least, forgotten. And this moment that I'm writing this entry--and the moment you're reading it? Gone. Lost. It's just a matter of time, some things forgotten almost immediately, others clinging to our memories like Velcro before finally letting go. And I feel an almost overwhelming sadness that so much in life is so easily erased, precious moments shared with others that we so often lose, gone from us forever.

 

I wrote this 100-words entry in late December of 2010, but I think about these things often, especially as I watch my children grow up at a speed that's much too fast. I write down so much of what my kids say and do. I record them constantly. I take pictures. But already there are so many things I've forgotten--things that, as they were happening, I remember telling myself I would never forget--but they're already lost to me. Knowing this--that memory is breakable, fragile--has made me even more aware of how important it is to appreciate every moment as it occurs--to live every moment--so that even if my memory fails me, I can be confident that I was truly present in every second I had.

Daddy's Little Girl

Today's 100 words:

I am the oldest girl in my family, and I remember being twelve and seeing the look on my father's face when he noticed I was wearing makeup--a flash of sadness, another of nervousness at what the makeup meant: certainty that I was growing older, maybe becoming interested in guys--and I knew that in that second, my dad was worrying about the years to come, visualizing a procession of boys knocking on his door, then whisking his daughter to who knows where for who knows what. And I understood--I really did--but I still wore the makeup.

Wisdom passed down, memories cherished

"Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." ~Charles R. Swindoll, evangelical Christian pastor

I have so many wonderful memories of the days I shared with my mother as I was growing up. She stayed at home with my sister and me, and I remember many times when she would drop whatever it was she was doing--chopping vegetables for a stew, vacuuming, working on the books for Dad's business--and play with us, helping us to build a fort made out of blankets and chairs or reading our favorite books over and over or showing us how we could turn the kitchen bar stools into makeshift horses and ride them into the sunset... And even after I started school and teachers and homework became the new focus of my days, my mother continued to be the person I could count on to be there waiting for me as I got off the bus each day, ready with a snack and an ear. I loved those after-school conversations!

When I entered the turbulent high school years, my mother became my confidant. Of course we had moments when we clashed, when we couldn't see eye to eye about makeup or boyfriends or curfews, but still I sought out her advice when teenage life seemed too treacherous to navigate. I knew she was there, that I never had to go through anything alone, and that was a comfort.

The six years I spent earning my college degrees brought new changes and challenges to my life: serious relationships, concerns about how to put myself through school, decisions about what to do after I graduated... Mom was always willing to give me advice, but she didn't step in unless I asked her. Sometimes I took her advice, and sometimes I didn't, but the talks we had about things that were important to me--and to her--are some of the best memories I have of that period of my life.

And now that I have children of my own, I appreciate more and more the things that my mother taught me, the things she did for me, her many sacrifices, and the effort she made to make sure that I had good memories of growing up, snapshots of life that I'll always cherish. She showed me what being a caring parent means, and I think about her example every day as I try to be the best possible mother I can be.

If I can be only half as good as my mother, I will feel like a success.

Too fast, too fast...

My husband just called me downstairs to take a look at our almost nineteen-month-old daughter, who'd asked to sit on the big potty for the first time. She looked adorable, sitting there with a big smile, chatting away, so proud of herself. But I want her to slow down a little.  Don't be too anxious to grow up, my baby girl...