Time

Apologies in advance for yet another nostalgic post from me. Maybe I can move on after this one. No promises, though.
The passage of time is such a strange thing. I know that I have always had 24 hours in a day, yet when I was a child, those days seemed so long. There was always time to do so many things. In the summer I could do my jobs, watch TV, read a book, swim and play with a friend, all in one day, and still the day just stretched out in front of me. Everything seemed slow. Waiting for Christmas or a birthday took forever. But now, the days, weeks, months and years just fly by. How could February be over already? It was just Christmas! How could my kids be so big and how could I be this old?

The days are never long enough. Ever. Despite the fact that I'm pretty sure I get up earlier and sometimes stay up later. (That's not to say that there have never been days where I think bedtime can't come soon enough, but still.) Days are never long enough to accomplish all the things I would like to, never long enough to spend all the good quality time with my kids and husband that I want to. Why is it that our perception of time shifts so much just when we are at a place to really appreciate the feeling of long days stretched out in front of us? I realize I have many more things that fill my time now then I did then, but even in trying to look past that, the passage of time seems faster now.

I've been thinking a lot about "lasts", and how often we don't really get a chance to mark them or celebrate them in anyway. It's easy to acknowledge the last day of preschool or the last wearing of some special article of clothing because it just doesn't fit a child anymore. But what about things like the last bedtime story? You certainly don't count down the days to that. It just happens over time. I have no idea when that happened with Jonas. I guess at some point he decided it was just as satisfactory to read a book to himself at bedtime, or maybe he got impatient waiting his turn as other siblings were added to the family, but suddenly there was the realization that he didn't ask for bedtime stories anymore and hadn't for some time. Now, as I have 3 children hanging on me or clamoring to sit on my lap, I stop and think, what if this is the last time? Once again, with Jonas, I have no idea when he stopped asking me to hold him. (To save him from any embarrassment, I will report honestly that it has been many years.) But, there was a "last" time that wasn't marked in any special way. I held him (possibly a little reluctantly, as I didn't realize how precious time was with my young ones,) and then I set him down and sent him on his way to grow up. (In my mind's eye, I almost see it as me setting down a 4 year old Jonas and watching him morph to a 12 year old as he walks away - TV commercial style.) And it's a little sad.

Of course, there are some "lasts" that are worth celebrating a little as well. I also don't remember exactly when Jonas stopped coming into our room at night because he was scared. But he did stop doing it somewhere along the way, which is awesome (because me sleeping more is good.) And with potty training, there should maybe be a celebration of the last accident that has to be cleaned up. But when it happens we don't really know that it's the last, so we go on as always. Maybe it's easier this way - the not knowing. I would hate the feeling of counting down to all the lasts. Since I can't seem to get my kids to stay little, there are already plenty of lasts that I am fully aware of - and dreading - and a few that I look forward to celebrating.

Tick tock tick tock....