Lately I've been walking the girls to school in the morning. And please bear with me as I try to explain why.
It used to feel time was like an old, reliable nursemaid. It was predictable, stodgy, ceremonious, and in seemingly infinite supply . When I was a girl, I could depend upon the exquisite yearning for holidays which approached at a snail's pace, summer vacations filled with endless afternoons, piano lessons that threatened to outlive the grave. I remember running along the two-lane country highway of my childhood, feeling I could run forever and still be right there, in that very same place. Nothing seemed to change. A minute was worth sixty seconds back then. Sixty hefty, good old fashioned seconds.
But everything was changing. Chores and music lessons and rooms shared with sisters actually did come to an end, and who could have known the finality of that moment? Who could have told me so much of what seemed constant and familiar and forever had, in reality, an expiration date?
Dear me, but I'm sounding like a sloppy drunk when in reality it is only fair to call me sloppy.
It's just that I do have these maudlin thoughts every now and then. It's what makes me the life of the party, darling.
Maybe it's because I'm so scatterbrained and dreamy, but I have the strangest sense time is gaining momentum, that I can no longer grasp or depend upon it it like I used to. And I sometimes feel quite breathless wondering if my children are going to find themselves at that day of transition, when it is time for them to stop emptying the dishwasher, to stop taking music lessons, to stop sharing bedrooms: will their impression of these moments be strong enough to seem, in a way, endless? Will their lasting impression be one of warmth, happiness, love?
In the midst of our busy schedule which often weighs on me with the concern we are going too many directions at once and that time, especially time spent together having fun, keeps slipping through my fingers, I suddenly realized I was missing out on a golden opportunity: walking to school. My carpool duties are in the afternoon, and in a rare moment of illumination I realized I didn't actually need to send my girls with the morning shift.
So for once time is not getting away from me. For once I am finding a way to get my sixty seconds' worth. In fact, it adds up to more like thirty minutes. Thirty hefty, carefree minutes for me to tear down the hill with my girls, holding hands, laughing like maniacs, singing in a way that very possibly disturbs the peace, and hopefully adding to the impression, both theirs and mine, that every moment of every hour of every second of our time together is filled with love.
Exasperation, too, mind you, but mainly love.