I don’t have the usual Friday Talent Round-Up post today. There wasn’t much that I could think of to post. There was Clare’s birthday yesterday—a school day, a new dishwasher (we had to wash by hand for a couple weeks), getting ready for a family birthday party tomorrow, a couple presents, and dinner out at Clare’s choice of restaurants (at least she didn’t pick McDonald’s). But, despite a fun birthday, it all seems a bit mundane. (Does anyone else always think of Funt and Mundane when they hear that word?)
Honestly, none of my posts from the past few weeks seem that interesting to me. Nothing particularly funny, nothing particularly moving. I blame it on the fact that I’m busy with other things, but really I feel like nothing much important or blogworthy has happened.
Clare’s sixth birthday yesterday made me think differently. Six seems so old. Clare certainly isn’t an infant or toddler anymore, but at five she was still our baby—sometimes still needing us to pick out clothes, button buttons, zip zippers, open boxes, dress Barbies, read, cuddle, and just be hugged. None of that has changed overnight of course, but over a year’s time, our baby has become a kid.
Five was a great age. Clare learned to read, completely dressed herself more often, and carried on real conversations that were funny, intelligent and meaningful—sometimes all at the same time. The breakdowns and temper tantrums happened less often too. Six will be great too I’m sure. But before we know it, she’ll be a girl of ten, twelve or fifteen.
That happens so often, doesn’t it? That a parent looks back and wonders how their baby became a young woman or man? Where did the time go? But we all know the answer. Time happens every day…at about the rate (Einstein be damned) of one minute per minute.
It’s the ordinary, mundane hours of every day when our kids are growing. It’s happening when they no longer ask us to button buttons, zip zippers or tie shoes. It’s when they stop coloring scribbles and start coloring in the lines. It’s when they decide that they won’t be a princess or pirate for Halloween again this year or pick cheerleader or ghost instead of the cute pumpkin or bear costume that Mom thinks would be so cute. It’s when they stop wanting to wear a costume to the supermarket in November and care about how they look. It’s when they remember to say please and thank you without being reminded. It’s when they remember to stop and look both ways before trying to pull us out into the street. It’s when they learn how to count money, tell time, and know when their favorite show is on TV. It’s when they’d rather watch Hannah Montana than the Wiggles. It’s when they sit still for chapter books. It’s when they can spell, tell stories with a beginning and an end, and use four or five syllable words. It’s when they don’t want a kiss or hug before school in front of their friends. It’s when they stop needing us—and wanting us—all of the time.
When we ask five or ten years from now where the time went, the answer will be that it happened every day in these little changes. Little changes that we sometimes didn’t even notice or acknowledge. I’ve missed some myself, but the next time that I see a change or that Clare does something for the first time without my help—like buttoning the cuffs on her school shirt—I’ll know that she’s that much closer to growing up. Yes, it’s mundane and probably not blogworthy, but it’s important. It’s important and so, wonderfully, mundane.
Today's post was written by Clare and Clare's Mom.
