"To everything there is a season and a time..." (Ecclesiastes 3:1) Right now is my time to savor.
For 17 years we've had babies – little bundles of joy that determine our every moment – waking, eating and sleeping (or not!). Our babies have grown to toddlers. All too soon they've walked and talked and gone to school. They've ridden tricycles and scooters and roller skates. They’ve grown out of bikes and into cars. They’ve matured and grown taller. However, more babies have always come to replace the growing children; and our arms, hearts and home have stretched longer and wider to accommodate this happy abundance.
During these busy, bustling times I’ve sometimes been exhausted and even discouraged, feeling that this hectic lifestyle would last forever – that my husband and I would never again have a moment of aloneness, with nothing to do. But now, the pendulum has swung to the very edge of our growing, and we are hanging, suspended in a window of time, before it begins to swing back – back to solitude without children.
In a few months our oldest son will leave home, and our household will begin shrinking. The shrinking will go as quickly as the growing did, I’m sure. One at a time, faster and faster, until they are all gone. During this one suspended year we will span the spectrum - from toddler to high-school senior. Just one year. These next twelve months are my time to savor.
I savor childhood. Little people, little hands, little voices, little needs. I savor tiny shoes strewn across the laundry room, little dollies left on the stairs, bouncy balls left by the swing set. I smile at rocks left from pockets in the washing machine, and garden snakes caught for pets. I relish kiddie pools and car seats.
Yes, you can push all of the elevator buttons. Yes, you can stay out and ride your bike. Yes, you can keep the light on and read. Yes, you can have another scoop of ice cream. I don't even mind if you make noise in the hallway or walk along the sidewalk curb, even if it takes us twice as long to get to the store. Yes, you can ride in the special shopping cart. Yes, we will buy the little box of donuts. Yes, yes, yes. Someday no one will ask, and who wants to walk along the curb or eat a mini-donut alone?
I savor teenage-hood. All-too-early morning marching band, and Drivers’ Ed, and summer PE classes. I relish lazy afternoon movies and summer sewing projects piled up on the table – pink, green and orange fabric that screams of bright fun. I cherish long hours when we can cut and sew and visit, and put off dinner until after reasonable bedtimes. I treasure late-night talks and teenage dates, when we wait up, bleary-eyed and tired, to greet our returned teens.
I savor summer – lovely, lazy days of endless swimming and snacks and lying on the lawn. I savor long bike rides in the evening, when the sun is drifting down and the last rays shine on the mountains before the mosquitoes find us. Even the moths, who fly in and out – as if we've opened our home to them (which we haven't) – can sense the friendly hours of this season.
I savor vacation. I savor the side roads and picture-perfect hikes we passed up before. I want to photograph every new angle of scenery. I want to sing every camp song we ever knew and relive every memory of trips past. I want to smile at every stranger and buy ice cream at the small shops on the side of the road. Who knows when we will pass this way again (at least, in a 12-passenger van).
I savor laughter and conversation and tiny talk. I savor thumb-sucking and blankies and little toes tucked into little beds. I treasure early mornings with babies and late nights with teens. I love Sundays with children stretched out in a long row next to me. I savor teenage shoes bigger than my own and tall boys who hug me and call me, "Mama."
I savor this year. We are rich. During the next twelve months we will enjoy the first day of kindergarten – and then the last day of high school. We will go to every band concert, whether or not the instruments are all on key. We will volunteer at every class party, and offer to drive the junior high friends whenever necessary. We will celebrate beginnings and endings. In a year, these moments will slowly, almost imperceptibly, start to fade away as the pendulum begins to fall backwards in its arc. But today I will cherish them. I love this day. I love this hour and minute and moment. This is my time to savor.
