It is constant, ticking away each second, forming each minute, adding into each hour, then day. On and on until weeks, months, and years pass.
Time also is a master magician, casting illusions over our lives—speeding up some moments and dragging out others.
Birthdays took forever as a child, the length between each one taking years, not just 365 days.
Waiting rooms are an alternate dimension where time gets lost on the way to the next minute.
My first pregnancy took at least three years, not the nine months and four days the calendar claims.
Yet, my son was just a baby last month. My daughter last week, though they are two-and-a-half years apart.
He just started kindergarten yesterday.
So how could today be the first day of 1st grade?
How could this angel…
….be drama queen turning four in less than three weeks?
Last year, I dreaded my son starting school. I was worried about him, his behavior, and the school stamping out the creative parts of him I love.
Guilt swamped me for the tiny bit of joy surrounding me. The thought of having more Me Time after years of giving it away.
The math learning almost nonexistent.
He complained of being bored.
He’d arrive at home each day and run to his paper and markers, the need to draw and download everything trapped in his head during the day overwhelming.
He did not want to go back to school. Ever.
I talked with the principal about these issues over summer.
We wanted to put him into private school, one geared toward kids like him. One not forced to dance to No Child Left Behind, and letting the teachers have freedom. The problem is cost… and some lingering behavior issues.
It left public school as our only option.
But this year… I have hope.
I really like his first grade teacher.
She has the potential to engage him, to challenge him, if the school districts rules and requirements don’t handicap her.
Time will tell if she succeeds.
As a student, I know how the school is only the location. It is the teacher that truly has the power to transform school into something amazing.
And she… could be amazing.
My son had grown in the last year. In size. In hair length. In maturity—though he still has a long way to go.
A part of me needed him gone last year, the constant battles between us, with his sister, a constant drain on my sanity.
He had a few camps this summer, but the last finished in mid-July. Since then, he has been at home with me every day, many with his sister as well.
This summer I enjoyed spending time with him. I loved listening to my children play together, getting along for greater lengths of time than ever before.
I watched his brain spin with ideas, switch to pencils for drawing, and how Dave Pilkey (author of the Captain Underpants series) inspired him to create his own comics.
Time is moving too fast again.
I want to freeze my children as they are.
Two years ago? Not so much.
But I love our chaos.
I love the snuggles.
I can see the drama of Lil Diva increasing with her age and I want my smiling innocent angel back, the one who loves all and can befriend a child in seconds.
I want to protect her from the mean girls. I want to make sure she doesn’t become one herself.
I want my son to have time to create, without busywork draining his time (which shouldn’t be a problem, at least this year).
I want them as they are right now. Forever.
The least Time could do is channel my childhood or a doctor’s waiting room and slow the frak down.
Was there ever an age you wanted to freeze for your kids? Or yourself?