It warmed up nicely this afternoon--above 50 degrees. After some major grocery shopping at Costco and Lin's, I took the boys to the park for some tennis. Austin has been loving his beginning tennis class and now we are both at about the same level. :) We played a while and then let Miles try his hand against Austin. They had fun together. I was back out on the court, preparing for game point, when my watch started buzzing on my arm. It was Emma calling us to come back home. The girls were ready with their Chef Challenge.
On Thursday I took down the Christmas tree by myself. The kids were busy building Legos in the other room and Greg was at work. At one point I plucked an ornament off the tree and found myself staring at Julia's little kindergarten face. She was so adorable, and I was struck by the quiet passing of time, like a thief in the night. Somehow that happens. Every human knows that time passes, and yet, in my experience, every human is surprised when it does.
Tears spilled over my lower lids and dripped down my cheeks. Father Time is slowly robbing me. Undetected and undeterred, he takes a bit more each day.
I reminded myself to be grateful for the years that I've been allowed to watch her grow--to watch all of my children grow. Those years are an immeasurable gift. I live and breathe motherhood. I like to joke that when God called for mothers, I fought my way to the front of the line. I love it that much.
But I don't love huge messes, and that was my first thought when Emma and Julia proposed their idea of a New Year's Eve Chef Challenge. Stifling a sigh, and staring straight into the face of excitement, I agreed. They filled a bowl with little scraps of paper--on each scrap was written a secret ingredient. After drawing out their own ingredients, they scoured the internet for recipes that would work with those items. Then came the shopping list. I was already feeling my heart speed up unnaturally at this point in the process. But how could I stop them now? I let them shop online at Lin's (a grocery shopping wonder!) and I agreed to pick up their items. My outlook brightened significantly when I left with the boys for some tennis, and my girls stayed home to cook dinner. This was new.
Fast forward to game point on the tennis court. My watch buzzed. Dinner was ready at home.
We stumbled through the mudroom door, flush-faced and happy, arms loaded with rackets, balls and jackets. And holy wowza! The meal that awaited us was a wonder to behold. Pasta primavera, breadsticks, bruschetta, salads, guacamole, apple cake and strawberry-filled crepes. I plopped right down at our kitchen table and happily stuffed food into my mouth, oohing and aahing with unabashed vigor. Greg and I were horrible judges--we ate it all and loved it all. Nary a critique left our lips. We ate until we were sick. The girls had stars in their eyes; they were so pleased and proud to watch us enjoy their creations.
However. Lurking in my peripheral vision was a mess to frighten even the stoutest heart. I'm taking this moment to digest a bit so I can move again. And then, forgetting every cleaning oath I made them swear before beginning, I think I will pitch in with the cleaning. Side by side, we will wash and dry. My baby girls. Cooking dinner all on their own. Where Father Time has robbed, Father in Heaven has blessed. These beautiful girls are becoming more and more each day. And someday, I'll read back upon this memory and shed a tear for my young girls, the budding chefs, and miss the days when our biggest worry was a pile of pots and pans, and who would wash and who would dry. So, Father Time, stay away. Just for tonight. I'm spending this one with my girls.
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