Feeling nostalgic…the kiddo’s back in school.

It seems like only yesterday I was carrying my son around with me, my little papoose on my back, a beanie on my son’s bald head, and today he was back at school, searching for his locker.  Everything and everyone changes.  Life is constantly in flux.  Was it really all that long ago when I was picking out #2 pencils with my own parents?  The calendar tells me one thing, my memories tell me another.  Even the weather seems to have changed from summer to autumn in a blink.  Last week we were using the air conditioner; today I threw the first log of the season into the fireplace.  Mother Nature and Father Time have both let out a huge sigh, so have the rest of us parents.  Life continues to shift.

My son, catching dragonflies.

 The weeks have been chugging along, getting away from me.  Life does that to you.  You look around and wonder, “What happened?”  This past weekend, I felt the pull of childhood keenly.  My car died.  I didn’t know how much I missed being a kid, until my step-mom offered to let me drive her car while my brother-in-law tries to get “old blue” running again.  My first instinct was to resist.  I’m a big girl now.  I want to be able to handle my big girl problems, but I allowed my pride to take a backseat.  I knew it would be easier for both my husband and myself if I accepted her help.  I’m glad she asked to help me.  I’m glad I accepted her generosity. 

 It’s so hard for me to be the child again.  I’ve worn the “mom hat” myself for a while now.  I know the secret handshake and everything!  😉  It’s difficult for me to accept help when it comes to anything, even if I REALLY need it.   I’ve worn the “I’m in charge” badge for too long as well, both in my professional life and in my home life.  I have to make a conscious effort to let go. 

 Life is a circle.  If all goes according to plan, you start your life depending on others, you live life and become independent, and when you get to the end of your life, you go back to start.  I’m not quite to the middle of my life, but I’m working my way there.  My father has told me stories of his childhood, now he is the grandfather.  The season’s change, “turn, turn, turn.”

 I become nostalgic in spurts.  I think I age that way too.  It’s not a gradual thing for me.  As I write, sitting in my favorite chair, my laptop balanced on my knees, my cat/editor squished between the computer and my stomach, I’m feeling a little sad, but happy too.  My child is getting older.  I’m so proud of the person he’s becoming.  He’s changing.  I’m changing.  Nothing stays the same.


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