Wednesday, February 5, 2014


Outside my window it is gray. Outside my window it is dreary. Outside my window it is cold, the wet cold that stays clinging to my feet for hours after coming inside.

Despite my best efforts to get make myself get out of these doors every day, today it did not happen- home late from work, a stop at the grocery store, and all the sudden it's time to make dinner.  And even though each day is getting longer, the dark still comes too soon.

I find myself wanting summer.

But then I remember that summer is months away. And that when summer comes, it will mean that my kids are bigger, taller, smarter, wiser than they are right now.

They will do new things and know new things. They will have experienced more and have changed in so many small ways.

I can't want summer. I must want right now.


It's easier to remember firsts. First laughs, first steps, first words. First sleep-over. First time down the big slide. It's harder to remember lasts because you don't usually know when they are happening.

One day, I will kiss away the hurt on Gus's elbow, and it will be the last time he comes to be with tears in his eyes, still believing in that particular breed of magic.

But I won't know that it is.

One afternoon will be the last afternoon that Sena steals away to live among her dolls, talking and singing with them as the rest of the house slips into evening. But I won't know that either.

I won't know which night was the last night they woke me up to crawl into my bed, the last time Arlo nurses, the last time he jumps into the bath fully clothed. I won't know that I'm washing their hair for them for the last time, cutting up their dinner, handing them a sippy cup of juice. I may have experienced something beautiful and utterly ordinary for  the very last time today, but I don't know it. And chances are, I never will.

So I'll let summer take her time. I won't rush her, and I'll let winter have his due. This winter marks the end of dozens of things that one day I will miss, but which I will never get to say good bye to.


  1. I have a hard time wanting now instead of six months from now. That's always been a struggle for me, especially when it comes to seasons. In winter I want summer and in summer I want winter. Being content is something I'll probably always have to work on. There's a push inside of me that tells me to move, grow, go. Which can be good! But sometimes I want to and I should enjoy standing still.

    1. i always wanted to be older, so it's odd to finally be old enough, and my kids, they can stop growing RIGHT now.
      pregnancy makes the anxiousness one thousand times harder. of course you want the time to pass- time means baby. good luck, hope you're feeling well.

  2. I'm doing the same... I miss getting my hands dirty in the garden. I miss wearing flow-y breezy dresses and being warmed by the sun. I miss having our boys run in and out of a wide-open back door. So I guess I actually yearn for spring, ha! But yes, I have also been reminding myself of the loveliness there is in winter- warm radiators, hot cups of coffee, slowing down (aka, not needing to tend to an ever-growing garden full of weeds and yard work), reading good books that I'm too exhausted to open at the end of a busy spring/summer day... it's pretty darn cold here, though. Thank you for your honesty and always trying to be present. I sure do appreciate reading that from you.

  3. This is such a sweet post. Thank you for sharing your particular breed of magic.

  4. So much much! Must. freeze. time!!!

  5. Oh wow. Reading this generates many disorganized, long-winded thoughts that I will spare you. But know that this post is quite moving.

  6. This is pretty sad. Maybe we should just keep making new ones forever. Bam. Problem solved.

  7. I ALMOST can't read this, but your words, like always, compel me onward. This is such a perfect piece of writing, and especially vital for mothers to read, well all of us really....all who live in and out of time.