My sister once said something about this blog that I’ve never forgotten.
It was, “If you don’t have anything interesting to say, don’t post something stupid and boring.”
And I don’t think what I want to say today is interesting, and I think it’s boring to anyone other than me, Whit and maybe my mother-in-law. So it's been hard to write it today. But I hereby give you permission to stop reading, because this post falls more into the category of being a journal entry than anything entertaining for you.
This is what I want to say:
In a world in which life rushes by, and we’re always busy planning for tomorrow, I want to remember today.
I want to remember that on the day Jack started first grade and Caroline started fourth grade, we had just finished a week of earthquakes and hurricanes.
I want to remember Jack adjusting his mako-shark backpack, squaring his shoulders, smiling his little haggle-toothed smile, confirming I wasn’t wearing lipstick before I kissed him, and marching into school.
I want to remember Caroline’s holy fit that she had “one more page!!” left on her summer math packet and I was the horrible mother who wouldn’t let her finish it.
(Because I must push her buttons as much as she pushes mine, I had to repeatedly point out that she had all summer to finish it and 8:30 am on the first day of school wasn’t really the most opportune time to be thinking about completing pages upon pages of fractions and decimals.)
I want to remember trying my damndest to make homemade pop tarts to surprise the kids and the irrational anger I felt when they kept exploding in the oven.
I want to remember Caroline grabbing Jack and saying, seriously, “Do you want me to walk you to your classroom?” And I want to remember Jack, who was trying so hard to be brave, saying, “No thanks” and walking up the stairs by himself.
I want to remember that it’s our 13-year anniversary, and that deserves celebrating, because marriage isn’t always easy and we’ve made it thirteen years (seventeen if you count the dating years) and, as it currently stands, there’s no end in sight. And I’m lucky and I want to remember appreciating that, and appreciating Whit, and appreciating how he makes me laugh almost as often as he drives me nuts.
When these years of my life are a fuzzy memory, I want proof that I was here, mentally and emotionally and physically, and that today was a big deal, and that I made it a big deal. Because sometimes I feel like life is whooshing by me, and that I’ll wake up one day and have adult children and an old, bald man for a spouse and I’ll really feel like it all passed in the blink of an eye.
“And remind me,” I told Whit last night, “that I didn’t miss much of it. That I soaked up every minute. Remind me, when it seems like I blinked and their childhoods were over, that I was present and I was happy and I was there and we loved these days.”
I hope this blog post will remind me that I did stop. That I did relish today, even with its imperfections, rather than missing yesterday or planning for tomorrow.