How Time Passes

Time –noun
1. the system of those sequential relations that any event has to any other, as past, present, or future; indefinite and continuous duration regarded as that in which events succeed one another.
2. duration regarded as belonging to the present life as distinct from the life to come or from eternity; finite duration.
3. ( sometimes initial capital letter ) a system or method of measuring or reckoning the passage of time: mean time; apparent time; Greenwich Time.

I am aware today of how fast time passes by. This weekend is my daughter’s 8th birthday. With that comes the acknowledgement that I am not getting any younger, and that my kids childhood is whizzing past me in a flurry and I can’t catch up.

I know that most people spend time on those hard days with their kids anticipating when they will leave the nest. I know my kids will grow up and leave home. I am sure that when that day comes it will be bittersweet. But for now I am grateful for this time with them.

Times like:

Stealing food from the kitchen and leaving a huge mess of evidence. (Haven’t I taught them anything about being a little better about being sneaky?)

Carving their names into my car paint (Yeah and I can read it every time I pump gas, lovely)

Flooding the bathroom with water and making sure there is toilet paper all over the floor first.

Painting my dresser with smashed banana (This was terrible to clean! It was like plaster!)

Pulling all the dvd’s down and taking out the discs and switching the cases.  (This is really great when you really want to watch a certain movie. Then you get to play hide and go seek with your movies)

Leaving chocolate hand prints on my shirt directly over my breasts. (And me not noticing till we are in public. Sigh)

I am sure that me and many other moms could fill pages upon pages with the things that are kids have done to us. Things that at the time were so not cute. But I look at this list (most of this happened a while back) and can smile. Even at the happy face carving on the hood of my car (happened when my nephew carved his name) and say that I am glad the kids are leaving marks daily even if they are sometimes crazy or painful because it means they are leaving marks on me, on my mind, my memory, and my heart. And I will happily bear those marks till I can no longer remember the small childhood tortures when my children are grown.

Yours Always,

Lady X

 

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