This past weekend went by so fast. Like most weekends. Like all time these days.
The kids had sleepovers and spent time at other activities. That meant drop-offs and pick-ups at times that aren’t convenient for anyone, packing and unpacking bags that never seem to be fully emptied, calling for left behind phone chargers and bringing home stories and exhaustion and videos of playing with friends’ pets and why can’t we have one of our own?
We shopped for Christmas presents, which these days looks like me tailing my kids into stores and taking pictures of them holding up articles of clothing they HAVE to have and asking the salespeople if they think these things will be on sale next week.
I took my time making dinner on Saturday and watched the movie version of the book my son is reading in English class. We talked about school and assignments and he reminded me twenty times that he had to write a blog post. As I shooed him upstairs to write I smiled at the irony that he is doing the very same thing I tell myself I should be doing every day but I don’t. I wonder – if someone gave me an assignment to write blog posts, would I write more often?
I taught Sunday School to a group of junior highers and was grateful for their good behavior because I felt like I repeated myself too much. They were grateful for the leftover Halloween candy I fired across the room when one of them answered a question. Chocolate is a wonderful unifier.
Over an hour on Sunday was spent slipping school pictures into envelopes and writing notes to family members, remarking on how grown the children are. I didn’t properly convey my amazement and dismay at this in those few lines. By the end, my hand hurt and I hoped they could read my worsening scrawl, but then realized that the pictures would far outshine the notes anyway. As they should.
I made to-do lists and went through a pile of mail that had been languishing on my desk, walked through the house and reminded my family again that I am not a maid and that their things need to be put away, that dishes need to be washed, that sweatshirts need to be hung up and that I am not going to clean up this mess. My blood pressure rose when nobody moved and I felt invisible and petty so I poured a glass of wine and curled up on the couch to be still with them.
The messes were gone the next time I walked through the house.
I read the words of friends who write. I hadn’t done it in a while and it was good for me. Inspiring. Funny. Uplifting. My friends are good writers.
I spent this weekend thinking it was a whirlwind. It wasn’t really; just full. I can’t stop myself from thinking that it will all end, when the kids are gone and there’s no one doing school assignments or needing to be picked up or showing me what shoes they want for Christmas. There will be a time when there won’t be school pictures to send. And that’s okay. It’s the natural progression of a life.
I can’t stop any of it.