Picture your overly perfumed aunt (no, not you, Leonard) pinching your teenaged, acne-speckled cheek and telling you: "Oh! You are growing up so fast!"
For me it was never fast enough. Perhaps being the youngest of 5 girls, I felt that I was ready for college by sophomore year in high school. I couldn't grow up fast enough. Being told how fast I was growing up always felt insulting, but that could have been the teen angst talking too.
When my son Sam was younger, he was such a handful. My little Moonshine (because I needed Moonshine to recover after a day with him.) He never stopped.
Often, people would tell me, "Cherish them being so young, they grow up so fast."
It would make me cringe- both for the perfumed memory above and the fact that having a 2 year old boy was driving me up the wall. (That kid refused to sit still for two years!) I was secretely urging him to grow up so I could breathe again without fear of him running in front of a car or off a bridge.
This has been on my mind recently, as for the first time in my entire life, I have lived in a place for nine years. I am beside myself with happiness, because I accomplished something for my kids I never had; roots.
I am not complaining, for it was my frequent changing of schools that enabled me to converse with practically anyone on the planet, but as a mom, it was important for me to provide my kids with a steady community.
The last day of school was a few weeks ago, and it was also Zoe's last day at her elementary school. As we left, I congratulated kids that I have known since they were three years old.
My first born is now entering Middle School. Egads! I find myself looking at her at times and thinking, "My God, she's growing up so fast."