These days have preschool, less supervision, gymnastics and new skills that seem to just suddenly exist like simple math and beginning to spell. They are just there and somehow they learned them and maybe it was me that taught them and maybe it wasn't. But they are growing and doing cool things and they need our watchful eye less and less. It's exciting and, of course, bittersweet. Mostly, though, it's just pretty cool. This life after babyhood is ok. I approve.
I think about things more than I did before and if you have been a regular reader you know that is hilarious because am I saying that I think even MORE? Yes. Yes, I am. Mostly though it's because I am more careful with what I write about my kidlets. I never want to hurt them with what I write. And as they get older, I am pulled to write about the day to day less and less. The things I am pulled to write about are changing. Like sands through the hourglass and all that jazz.
Today I decided to round up some of my notebooks. I have 267 (rough estimate) of them lying about in all the drawers, in the trunk of my car, glove box, bathroom cabinet, under piles of art from the kids, in shoe boxes, on the washing machine and on top of the microwave. I have big ones, small ones and medium sized ones. Some have flowers on them and others have sappy quotes. Some are covered in coffee stains and others are still waiting for the day they are used as a coaster. I love them all.
In my notebooks I jot down ideas, random musings, passwords that I never remember, scribbled reminders that are not specific enough to actually remind me of anything, doodles from the kids, phone numbers and myriad lists for just about everything. They are not in any kind of order. If I have to write something down it goes into the first notebook that I find and on the first blank page I flip to. This makes it super fun for me to try and figure out where I wrote something down.
I was half-heartedly flipping through a notebook wasting some time because I should have been doing our taxes when I came across one of the random streams of consciousness I tend to write to myself.
"There are days when it feels like I go from feeding you to cleaning up food off the floor to changing diapers and right back to feeding you. Rinse. Repeat. There are days when I try and clean and I feel like I am trying to make ice cubes in a volcano."
I instantly made fun of myself in my head. "Oh shut up, ME! Seriously? The whining! I can hear my sadface from here in the future. Sweet Cheesus on a cracker. You miss that shit now", I laughed at myself writing to myself.
Then I flipped the page. On that page was a list of days Monday through Friday with three sections next to each day. This is presumably where I would record what I ate each day. There is ONE entry. On that particular Monday I ate a grilled cheese for lunch, you guys. Thank Heavens I wrote that down. The rest of it is blank. If that isn't a metaphor for my lifelong aversion to record keeping then I don't know what is.
I was having a swell time giggling at my notebook when I found this...
I remember writing it. I remember the lighting of the early evening coming through the front window of the home that we no longer live in. I remember being kept warm by my sweet Douglas who was taking a proper rest on my legs. I remember what I was wearing.
I remember the feeling of this person growing inside of me and I remember hearing Brandon clank around in the kitchen making Teryaki chicken. It smelled so good. I remember watching a DVR'd repeat of So You Think You Can Dance while I was writing it. I remember wishing and smiling and feeling so....in love. I remember feeling so hopeful. I remembered The Before of this parenting gig and I sat in that memory for a good while.
I had written baby name lists many times before but THIS? This was the first one with an actual baby waiting for a name. MY baby. This list was more than a list. This was the greatest list I ever got to write.
Before I closed the notebook and returned it to it's home in the tool chest and remembered that I had been looking for a screwdriver, I removed the page with the complaining and terrible metaphor (I mean... ice cubes in a volcano? No wonder I never used that awful sentence in a blog post until now).
Because, man, I do miss those days. And I'll just keep trying to make ice cubes in a volcano because it means that... Oh boy, yeah, no. That metaphor is just never going to work. So sorry.
But, yes! I do miss those days and this transition we are going through right now is teaching me to love those days and remember them and maybe shed a few tears for them but to leave it at that. Because each day as we do the mundane, like writing lists in notebooks, we are documenting this life. This good life.
Today, as I was writing this, Plum added a drawing to a notebook. A drawing I will no doubt come across years from now. And as I run my older fingers across it I will remember today and how awesome it was.
The trick, though, is to know that it is awesome today just as it happens.
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xoxo, Mama Pants