There is a pile of inside-out socks lying on the floor of my
youngest son’s bedroom. This is
the case every laundry day. He is
in too big a hurry to turn them the right way when he takes them off and
leaving them for him to fix is my way of protesting, as ineffective as it may
be. This is the story of his
life. He was born in a hurry and
he’s been in a rush to get on to the next thing ever since.
In the last several weeks the whole family has been
scrambling to get it all done. We
feel summer slipping between our fingers just like beach sand. This fall my hurry up kid races his way
off to school for the 7th time. For the first time it won’t be our old familiar grade
school. Instead he joins his
brother in Middle School.
For the last couple of years, back to school has felt like a
breeze. Having done it for so many
years in a row I’ve prided myself on my ability to be organized, and efficient
at navigating through it all in a speedy no nonsense way. What I didn’t realize is, that
efficiency also gave me the chance to speed through the process and ignore the
passing years until suddenly, this year, one small bit of nonsense did get in
the way. The tiny little issue
that keeps nagging at me. This is the “halfway there” year for the baby. As we enter his 6th grade
year I realize that after this one he has just that many left; six more back to
school days, six more school supply blitzes, six more school pictures, six more
lockers to fill, six more summers to enjoy. And I know how fast we got here, so that can only mean one
thing; I’ll be looking back on this six years in the blink of an eye.
How can that be?
Time really does fly by. I
know I meant it when I said it as he walked into Kindergarten for the first
time. How could he have passed
through toddlerdom that fast? How
could he already be walking into school?
But now, I really mean it. Now I really know. Now I can say with real conviction, the days are long but
the years are short. And just that fast our youngest is poised to enter that
next phase of his life just as he was when we sent him walking through those
doors of elementary school wearing that oddly oversized backpack, ready to take
on all the new challenges ahead of him.
Now, his back pack may fit better, but I know he’s still the same hurry up
guy he was those few short years ago, he’s just dashing through different
doors. Back then he loudly and
enthusiastically shouted, “Love you mama!” as he raced into school each day. Now days when I drop him off he’s just
as enthusiastic, but he shows his affection with a quieter send off, never
leaving without turning to very deliberately mouth the words, “Love you!”
before slamming the door and taking off.
Each time I soak in the moment and hope he doesn’t out grow it, ever.
My mom used to say to me when the kids were younger, “When they ask you to play don’t say
no, because before you know it they will stop asking.” No truer words could be spoken. Each of the last few days of summer I
took time for just a few minutes to quietly appreciate where we are at right
now and who my boys are at 11 and 13 and, poised at the starting line of the
next race, looked for every opportunity to play that I could get; before the
push, push, push of homework, and rush of activities, and before the next
lecture on turning the socks right side out.
