I’m not sure if it feels this way when you make it into your nineties, but it feels this way right now. The farmer’s grandmother passed away this weekend, and even though we haven’t seen her for five years, the time that I, at least, got to spend with her was always spent listening to her stories. She had lots and lots of stories and it always felt like her life was a full one, well lived.
Our family relies on the day to day, so I hope that in there somewhere we are building up our stories, our memories. Eleven years of being a family have come and gone already; did you know that they felt like they happened in the blink of an eye? I am often so overwhelmed with at a mere thirty-five that I joke to myself that by the time I am an old woman, this nostalgia will kill me, my heart will ache so badly with love for it all.
Our oldest son turned eleven this Friday. Our lives have been immeasurably blessed since he made us parents all those years ago. And he is such a treasure of a person, like we all are really. Born perfect with so much to offer the world.
Right now, this boy is perfecting the art of silly. Eleven has brought us big changes, it is definitely interesting to be on the parenting side of “pre–teen”. Thankfully nothing hard or trying, but all of a sudden we have hip-hop music on the playlist replacing things I much preferred (Radiohead and Death Cab and Beck are but sad memories of our shared musical interests), we had requests for fedoras and ties and vests for his birthday, a brand new “style” that is so important to him now. He craves chocolate and pickles and a male friend of ours remarked that this sounds like puberty to him, oh my! I know that we are just at the start of this stage of “growing up”, but it is still striking to watch.
He is amazingly capable now and can be given a task and can carry it out with great care, even though there is a natural turning inward starting to take place, where he would much rather be working on his own projects than helping with the family’s.
With baby number four approaching two, the incredible speed with which these wonderful souls grow is always right before my eyes. Unstoppable. Beautiful.
Life goes by fast, but life goes on, even when we want to hold on to it tightly. And as we live it, hopefully we can gather together our own set of wonderful stories to carry us through till the end.
What will his story be? It is only just beginning, but as it is getting written, I hope I can stand out of the way enough to let it always be his own. Mine, I know, will be full of him and his siblings.