"The days are long but the years are short."
It's a new year. A new day. A new opportunity to shape these lives I get to hold as my children. It has been a frigid week here in New England (and, I gather, in many other places) and so we've spent a good deal of time indoors, much to all our chagrins. I'm trying to cut back on my toddler's nursing sessions for personal reasons. My husband has been working late in order to finish a side project with a looming deadline. These have been some long days. I'm not complaining. I'm stating.
My children are 5, and 2. In truth, my oldest is closer to 6 than he is to 5. When I think about that, I mean really think about it, all I can do is shake my head. How? I wonder. It was yesterday that he was a babe in arms. It was. And it was a minute ago my now 2 year old boy wonder was a babe. And then I blink. And then I think. And then I look at them and swallow the lump in my throat (except when I don't and choose, instead, to let the lump rise to the corners of my eyes in liquid form). And then I breathe and smell the tops of their heads. And I play indoor soccer, and Batman and Robin of Batman, and shop, and I read books, and help with spelling out the words for the sign he's making for his new business, and help with figuring out scissors in his little hand, and blast the music for a dance party, and make spinach pudding for lunch and that's all, and stop short of losing my mind over toys on the floor and instead proclaim a race to pick up and put away and the one with the most things put away wins (and it works), and I scramble to think of what the prize will be, and I realize the only prize they want is a big "Yay!" from me, and okay, maybe an even bigger hug, and... The days are long. But the years are short. This chaotic, messy, sticky, loud, sweet, important time with them is going by so very fast. And, man, am I going to miss it.