Another year come and gone. 2014 - still sounds like something fictional to my ears. Then I think that in the year two-thousand-whatever we'll be doing such-and-such or that kid will be that old or we could have grandchildren by then. Just bizarre.
My nature is to make plan, not that I have ever stuck to a plan (it's a left-brain right-brain conflict) but I sometime imagine what will be or should be (in my world) going on today, tomorrow, next week, next month, a little later . . . In my foresight I'm happily surrounded by these grown children and there spouses and ump-teen or so grandchildren. All of them clamoring for MeMaw's attention (MeMaw? That's my future moniker).
But lately I can't seem to get there. I don't even want to.
Lately I've been looking for the brakes! I'm in the passenger seat slamming my foot against the floor board. I'm trying in vain to make a hole and drag us to a stand still.
My flip-flops are on fire!
These short persons I live with aren't staying short. I'm out of little babies. The wonderment of the "newness" of the world through the eyes of a wee one has worn off.
They can all walk and talk, feed themselves. Most of them can read.
I've somehow managed to keep them mostly alive most days.
We are successful. Right here. Right now.
These forward looking thoughts I had years ago about teaching teenagers to drive is now soon to become a reality.
And I just don't like it.
They are all big enough. Just right. Let's stop here and hang out. Just here. No older.
Yet I wake up each morning and see something on a little face I haven't seen before.
It's the big girls that hurt my heart the most.
Ava is pining for her learner license. She's excited about it. (I was too. I know the feeling.)
Autumn is curvy. She beginning, in spurts and starts, to speak (when she has too). She told me "Love you, too," on the phone the other day. (O my heart!)
They're reminding, without saying a word, that this parenting time with these little girls, this preciousness we've had, it's changing. It's beautiful watching them bloom and it hurts. It's going WAY to fast.
And the others are not far behind.
Lora is becoming a big girl. Her face is thinning. Her attitude and actions, while still sweet, are changing.
Jorja tried this morning to find loose teeth. She's in a hurry. Her dramatic retelling of events is done with the mocking motions and inflection of an older child. And it's just who she has become.
And then there are these boys. These people that are supposed to turn out to be MEN.
Scary.
Elijah and Alex are continually in trouble for something. Attitude, fighting, meanness, dumping all the clean clothes they take in there room on the floor, not finishing a job, fighting indoors where I can hear them, disrespect . . . (I keep sighing as I type). However, they can be so helpful. They can be so loving. They can melt your heart when they are being "such good big brothers" to one of the shorter people.
They are longing for "tallness." They want real guns and knives and yet, they have this knowing that they are still boys and cling to the Daddy, watching his every manly move, listening for some manly thing they can already do or be a part of. Longing for manhood yet content, for now, to be protected and cared for in the shelter of Mama's arms.
Jacob is definitely 5. I've worked with four and five year old enough to see it. The laugh, the looks, the speech, the play. He as suddenly taken more interest in being Daddy's boy than Mama's baby. The snugly-bug is giving less snuggles.
And then there's Josiah. {sigh} Rough and tumble. Smart and focused. BUSY! How did we fit such an old person in such a tiny, young body? The baby is big. Spoiled. And keeping up with the bigger littles like a pro.
They are fine just where they are. Freeze. Pause. Stop.
I just can't get them to stop. They laugh and think it's funny. Who wouldn't want to be a grown up?
(raises hand).
And I try again to imagine the big events of the future. Family trips. Holidays. Graduations. Weddings. Grandchildren.
It's no longer fun. It hurts. I don't want to let go.
I don't want to see them drive away without one of us teaching them from the next seat.
I can't anymore imagine all these big things to come without the reality of life hitting me in the face.
They will hurt too.
The pain will help them grow in ways other ways.
They will ask me how I dealt with life's punches in the gut and I will hurt for them and smile anyway.
"Pray, darling one. Study. Draw close to the Father."
I have plenty of lofty idea for keeping myself busy as my nest empties.
But I'm happy right now. Right here.
Let's stop, just for today, and breath them in. Look at them.
Then tomorrow, we'll keep watching them grow.
The hurt will become happy tears of continued blessings.
The laughter continues.
hugs and kisses from your Mama.
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