It goes way too fast. Way too fast. And if you want to see fast, just add an extra four kids to the mix. We had Nikki and Clint's kids this week, and the time just rocketed by, full of games, classes, carpools and lessons; homework, dinner, breakfast and school. One night, Tizzy asked me to lie down to sleep with her. I hesitated because, you know, laundry for 12 people, dishes, mounds of backpacks piled up by the front door, full of things to be signed and probably rotting lunch leftovers. I had Things To Do.
I said yes, though, because closing my eyes for a minute was an irresistible idea. Tizzy was so incredibly delighted, I couldn't believe it. She was happy just to have me there. She giggled, then laughed loudly. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep. She needed so little, and gave me so much in return, in that little giggle of delight.
Before I can fully appreciate her magnificent little 4-year-old giggle, Tizzy will be pulling a Mustang folder out of her school backpack and asking me to sign her reading log. She'll be a pudgy pre-teen needing new ballet shoes every three weeks as her feet grow. She'll be a tempestuous 14-year-old, storming out of the kitchen because nobody noticed that she curled her eyelashes. She'll be a Davis Dart, car bouncing into the driveway whenever we're lucky enough to have her home from all the things she's passionate about.
Then she'll be gone. She'll come back, but not often enough. And instead of snuggling in with her at bedtime, I'll lie down in the very spot in our bed where her warm little figure once hogged the covers, sometimes forcing Scott and me to end up on couches. I might cry because I miss her, but I'll dry my tears because that's what you do when you're all finished drying theirs.
1 comment:
Such a beautiful thought: " ... but I'll dry my tears because that's what you do when you're all finished drying theirs." Wah! Do they have to get so big?
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