This morning I did it, though. It happened without warning. Charlie and I were throwing a ball back and forth in the living room and mid-throw, out of nowhere, I told him to wait just a minute. . . I had a phone call to make.
I raced to my phone with an intensity that matched an Olympian in the final leg of a relay. I dialed the number and waited for the answer. When I heard a voice on the other end I quickly evaluated my options. . . speak or hang up. I am happy to announce. . . I chose the high road.
I choked out my words, "Hello, I'm calling for information about Kindergarten registration. . . "
Oh my goodness. . . It has begun.
After a short conversation I got off the phone and gulped back the lump that had already formed in my throat. I pasted an excited smile on my face and told Charlie that we will soon be preparing for Kindergarten.
I wish I could make sense of it. I wish I could just pay attention to my logical side that knows this is what is best, that it will be good for him, that he will love it, that this is just part of the journey of life. . . letting go. Unfortunately, though, I get caught up in the feelings, in the loss, in the change. In a few short months. . . everything will change.
These days. . . they are fleeting.
Even though I understand that the years to come will be filled with so many good things, there is a part of me that believes I will always return to these first years and view them as almost sacred. I am a lucky girl to have had the opportunity to spend my days with them as they grow, change, explore, and discover. I have been given a gift and I know it.
That's not to say that there aren't days when my patience hits empty by 10 a.m. or the thought of working full time is quite appealing. For the most part, though, this staying home thing has worked for me. I enjoy the mornings when we linger in p.j.'s and sit at the breakfast table chattering away about the day. I look forward to the chaos the comes with the non-stop activities that a preschooler and toddler dream up. I like that our schedule is ours to do with what we want. Lot's of times. . . it's a lot of nothing that adds up to being something simply because we are together.
Today's activity consisted of piling up every pillow, cushion, and stuffed animal in the house and counting to three before diving in. For two hours this is what they did. . . pile, jump, pile, jump, over and over again. And Charlie in his ever so cool voice exclaims, "this is the awesomest day ever!"
And in a moment. . . my heart is full. Watching them be together. Watching them laugh and smile and bicker and banter. I drink these days up more wholly now, knowing that they are quickly coming to a close. I snap a few more pictures and find peace in the chaos that was my living room because we are making memories.
We are in the business of making memories. . . of writing our story.
I am ever aware of the quickly turning hands on the clock. In my minds eye I watch the sand pouring quickly through the hour glass. This is life, I know. Change is coming. Soon, my influence will be less as he is exposed to more and more outside of the safety of our home. I hold on to the hope that the memories we have created in these years have gone far to set a foundation of safety and security for him. . . for both of them. They will face challenges, I know. They will hurt, I understand. More than anything, though, I hope these years have helped them to understand the most important thing. . .
They are loved.