There are some things people do not tell you about being a mother. And then there are the things they tell you over and over again . . .
I lost track of how many times other’s have told me that “it all goes so fast.” Sometimes I would just tune it out, because while you are in the thick of it–the diapers, the tears, tantrums, and bags under your eyes it’s easy to want it to go fast. I felt guilty for feeling these feelings, but they were there and so I faced them. I felt the glorious weight of two babies–one on each hip. It was a constant tip of the scales from high to low and low to high. Sleep deprivation, of course, having much to do with it.
But one day I caught the words my friend was saying….”The days are long, but the years are short.” Catchy, I thought. But soon enough I knew.
The diapers are gone. The kids are in school. And, now, I’d like to freeze time.
But it’s a slippery thing, time. It ticks and tocks and never stops–not even for sleep.
I want to freeze time, Liam Brave. You’ve just turned eight (I can hardly type e.i.g.h.t.) and I’m stumped on that one.
You’ve always been an old soul (I mean what kid is caught reading the paper in the back of the car on vacation? I think I might know one other person that could have been a kid like this). Your mind, compassion, empathy, and understanding always exceeding your years. But now, your legs are catching up. So quickly, that your pants can’t keep up, I might add.
I know we’ve got time. I mean you are in 2nd grade, right? But I’ve been here before. Two times to be exact. It’s hard to remember your sister in second grade and it seems like just yesterday that Lukie was in the same classroom you sit in today. Time is always on the move. And because it is….I like to freeze frame what I can. Freeze frame who you are at this moment in time. Because you will change. You will grow. You will not always like what you like now. You will not always say what you say or think what you think. But you will want to remember. And you will want to return. You will want to find the pattern of who you have always been. Let me help you with that.
+ You instantly pick up lyrics. You are our second little singer. I think Charlie Puth’s “Attention” just might be your favorite song. Or is it that Shawn Mendes one?
+ You actually enjoy reading, now. Two years ago it made you cry and now you ask to sneak my book light into your bed at night. Of course, I let you because–what could be better than reading a book in bed?
+ If anyone (but me) touches your food or even looks too closely at it, you say…”I’m not eating it!!!”
+ You break into an English accent at random times, like me. Ello, Panuchio. I’m still now sure where Panuchio came from.
+ I think Turkey meatloaf might be your new fave dinner? But it’s probably Spaghetti.
+ Current show: Thunderman’s
+ English tea, with milk, before bed is becoming a ritual.
+ Lino’s pizza makes you puke (I hope you grow out of this).
+ During the letter game you used words like “Distastic” which I can only assume means “not fantastic,” and “dislikeful.”
+ You love to play chess and taught me to play checkers (Crazy your 40-year-old mom didn’t know how to play but it was worth the wait for you to teach me).
+ You love going to the trampoline park and can now do a flip into the foam pit.
+ You like to read the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books and Roald Dahl too (Hallelujah). Reading The Twits together was a dream come true.
+ You caught a fly ball during a baseball game this summer.
+ You are obsessed with Steph Curry and the Warriors. You said you would like your name to be changed to Wardell (Steph Curry’s real name). This makes me giggle.
+ You understand. Sometimes with your eyes. Sometimes with your words. Always with your heart.
You are a most unique soul, Bravey. There is something so very special about you and I get to unwrap that gift every day.
I love you always,
more birthday posts here.