Time, it's always time, on my mind.

Time, it's always time, on my mind. This song has been on repeat in my head the last few weeks.

Today I visited Mya at school for lunch. It has always been something I've loved to do, especially with the younger girls because I love watching them wait impatiently for her on the stage. They sit, bouncing their knees with their chins resting in the palms of their hands, and they jump high in the air the moment she rounds the corner of the cafeteria. Last year, she would run to them and hug them tightly. Not this year. This year, she smiles as she races past their bouncing bodies to plop down quickly in chair next to me. Something about their enthusiasm embarrasses her now. And with each growl or stare she throws their way during the quick 30 minutes, my heart aches. She's changing. Time is changing her. Thankfully, it's mostly for the better, but there are moments when I see this older girl fighting the baby girl inside, and it is the hardest thing for me to watch.

Moments like this are happening all the time now. Moments when I catch my girls change or react differently than they would've a week...a month...a year ago. Just yesterday, Genevieve seemed intent on having her voice heard in the car. The other girls were chattering away about nothing really, but anytime V wanted to speak, they would speak right over her. Poor Genevieve seems to be the one whose voice is lost in the sea, and only because she's never bold enough to press the matter. But not yesterday. The girls wouldn't let her say what she needed to say no matter how often I asked them to pause, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. The screech nearly made me pull the car off the road.  Her sisters stared at her in disbelief, but they let her speak. A small victory was won. I was rather proud of her.

And so what do I do with each passing day and each fleeting memory? Clearly I'm inept at keeping up with the blog. I try and write them in my phone, but I can't keep up with everything. And so I'm trying ever so carefully to imprint the most important moments in my memory, even though I know my memory is faulty these days. It's strange to grow old, but I like it (minus the wrinkles around my eyes). I find so much wisdom in watching things change. I am but a bystander to my own life it often seems. I mean, I get down and play with the kids all the time, but even in play, I realize I'm just there watching everyone else. And I feel like the luckiest.

No comments :

Post a Comment

"Be kind and considerate with your criticism... It's just as hard to write a bad book as it is to write a good book." Malcolm Cowley