Last night I sat by our littlest baby, and we watched a movie together. She wanted to turn off all the lights and get snacks from the kitchen, pretending they were popcorn so we could make believe that we were in a movie theater together. Instead of nice, reclining theater seats, we sat on the hard wooden floor with paper plates full of saltines and tortilla chips in front of us on the coffee table, still splattered with watercolors from an art project earlier in the day. Being with certain four year olds is like playing chase with a whirlwind. This one rarely slows down. People often laugh when they see us together, joking about how they wish they had half the energy she does, and there’s me, holding tight to her while she strains for freedom, or rushing after her while she travels to her next destination at her one speed: lightning.
People often say she will keep me young. People say all kinds of things while the grey hair continues to sprout on the top of my head.
Just a few days ago I ran across the first picture I ever took of her. I struggled to remember what it was like back then, when she felt like a little stranger to me. Back when she was just a tiny, bald, smiley mystery. Now she is as mine as a child can be. I know her intimately, yet I’m still bewildered by many of the things she does. You know, like all moms. Kids are so surprising, no matter what their personalities are. They will remian unpredictable creatures for their whole lives, I think, and that’s one of the things that makes them fascinating.
Our two older kids will both be heading to college in the fall, and every time one of them goes to the door to run an errand, she needs reassurance that they aren’t going to college yet. When we’re choosing dorm décor for her next oldest sister, she’ll be finishing up second grade. Her life will shift dramatically in just a couple of months, and again in a few more years, and so will mine. It feels like my nest is emptying, but then it won’t. Not completely. Not until my whole head is covered with grey hair, when this little brown-eyed whirlwind walks across the stage in her cap and gown, while I sit and watch with a grandkid or two on my lap.
God’s goodness is all over this.
As we turned off the movie for bedtime, Ivy looked at me and said, “That was fun!” It’s probably her most often uttered sentence, other than “I love you” or “Can I have some dessert?” I have a pretty strong feeling that when that day comes, when my gray-haired self is snapping pictures of the babiest baby in the front yard before she walks across the graduation stage, I’ll remember all those years that could have been empty nest years, but weren’t. And my heart will be filled with one thought: That was fun.
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