by Sarah on September 8, 2010
It’s happening. That summer ending thing. That school starting thing. Those new beginnings.
Time presses on and I stumble to catch up. Every season.
I’m looking through pictures of my boys. Of summer. I’m nostalgic before a season has even completely passed. How can this be?
The pictures arm me with goodness and light. They shower me with feelings of happiness and erase that sinking feeling of guilt that I am failing them, that I don’t enjoy them enough, that I’m not appreciating how quickly it all passes.
I’m stuck in between the seasons. The sun still beating down and warming me up, readying myself for the chill of fall.
I like change. I welcome it. But I seem to be caught, like the seasons, trying to figure out which way to go. Do you ever feel caught? Stuck? Unsure of your position in the universe that is your small life?
I’m looking for my compass. It’s been lost for some time now. Do you think I can borrow yours to find my own?
I thought I always knew which way pointed North but now I’m not so sure. My life is like playing pin the tail on the moment and I’m usually just left spinning.
Today is Monday.
Last Monday I was at the “big” library, scouring the shelves for new audiobooks for my big boy. Choosing my “baby’s” first book to be taken out. Advising my 4-year-old on which Madeleine video to select. It was a warm and sunny summer day. Perfect for a trip downtown. A smoothie. A day of whim.
For 10 days I enjoyed such whim. I got out of bed—one day early, one day late, the rest at the usual time—and faced each day with no grand plans. It was a vacation in the true sense of the word. Except I didn’t go anywhere. I stayed at home and caught up on the laundry. I weeded a garden. Decluttered a few rooms in the house. I sorted through clothes outgrown, baked a little, read a lot. I thought thoughts from the beginning right through to the end. I wrote in my journal, watched my kids play in the sandbox, built Lego vehicles and dressed up a few dolls.
I went on outings with the kids to the farmer’s market, The Lake, to get ice cream and to see live music on the town green. We met up with the cousins (TWICE!) and played in the backyard. We saw friends, went to the sprinkler park, cashed in a gift card at Border’s and went for a walk after dinner. Sweetie took off a day from work, and we spent the whole day together as a family. Time at home, dinner out. Perfection.
I wish I had another 10 days to do almost exactly the same thing. It went by too fast.
The girls are still asleep
The boys, awake
I sit at my desk
and glance out the window
at our green backyard
Bubbles of sunlight
slipping through the leaves of the lush maple trees
floating and settling on the too-long green grass
There’s a babydoll on the clothesline
because yesterday she got dirty in the sandbox
and then my not-yet-2-year-old
took her into the bathroom and washed her in the sink
How can one child be such a do-er
And one of her older siblings be so distraught over doing?
I sit and I look outside
and I ponder questions like this one
Because even when the kids are not underfoot
I am thinking
About this life
With these children
In this house
A family
My family
Together
While I take in the beauty and peace of morning
I pause
And even amidst the clutter that is beside me
Below me
All around me
I know
That there is peace in this life that we share
And soon, when the girls wake up
I will pack a picnic and towels and sunscreen
And we will go to the lake
The lake that we simply call
The Lake
because we go there so frequently
And we will have a morning of digging and swimming
Splashing and snacking
And then we will come back for naptime
And quiet time
And the babydoll on the line will be dry by then
And it will have been another near-perfect summer day
