These days I'm watching my kids in wonder. Where has the time gone? Maybe it's because Spencer is very quickly creeping close to eye-level with me; maybe it's because Collin talks with cute expressions and a sort of fake lilt to his voice that makes him sound like a Cool Dude; maybe it's because Claire has this confident quiet look to her these days as she tosses her hair, and in that moment I can already see the teen, and the twenties-something young woman that is slowly budding from this baby girl of mine; maybe it's because Katya is old enough to put on her own clothes, nurture a baby doll better than some mothers nurture their own children, and is often speaking in full sentences. She's no longer my baby. Whatever he reason, I'm so aware these days that my kids are growing up on me, and I'm a bit in awe of them. I love them, of course, but they older they get, the more I LIKE them.
These days I see them mostly through window panes because the weather is so beautiful. They spend hours upon hours outside in the neighborhood, playing with friends and soaking as much sunshine and fresh air as the Lord will lend our way. I hear them through the open doors and windows, the voices of my babies growing up.
If I want to find Spencer, I look to the trampoline first, then to the tree line at the neighbor's house. He's running here and there, enthusiastically tackling the next thing, and always trying to keep everyone in check. Wherever he goes, the other kids follow. Whatever he's doing is exciting - or at least it seems to be, because he's always enthusiastic about it. Spencer is becoming a young man before our eyes. He is hard-working, driven, precise and literal. And I'm more and more impressed with how he is developing into a people- and family- oriented person. Spencer is only eight, but he has his priorities in the right place. He is the one who seeks me out to give me goodnight kisses, or sit by me during family movies - just so I wont' feel left out. Such a tender heart, that is still very visible and vulnerable on the outside, but I suspect will become more hidden in the teen years to come. He has such big boyhood dreams....he is so strong and such a fighter, but I can't help but hope that life will be kind to that tender little heart that is on his inside. As I watch him run past the window, I remind myself to savor the moments that he is still a little boy.
If I want to find where Collin is, I look out of our bay, past the houses, to the "Pond." It's really just a big ditch at the edge of the road, but has enough standing water and creepy crawlies to keep my nature-loving boy happy. Watching him with hair golden in the sunlight, wading barefoot in the mud, exploring every rock and cranny, chasing butterflies, catching snails and tiny water snakes and frogs, I think to myself that this is what boyhood is made of. Such a boy, and yet such a handle on language, with a knack for storytelling. My boy has a ready smile, and a familiarity as he grins and leans close, like we share a funny secret. He's learned the necessity of forgiving and forgetting, this second boy of mine whose sensitive little soul has been crushed by my impatience, quick temper, and tongue too many times. He's an optimist, this little man, always sure that the next big frog, the next full rabbit trap, the next good thing is just around the bend in the road. And then sometimes, like last night, he counts his blessings - food, clothes, house, mom and dad, and Jesus - and remembers that the good things are here and now, and the rest is just extra.
Claire is either easy or impossible to find. She is either on the porch steps or in the garage playing with her little friends, or is far and away at the neighbour's house in their playhouse, in their basement, or even further down the road looking for an older friend to play with. She walks down our lane, back straight, hair tossing away from her face. I watch her and smile to myself, She is fierce, this first girl-child of mine. She is a fierce fighter, has a fierce temper, loves fiercely, is fiercely loyal, and is fiercely determined. When she sets her mind on a thing, she gets it done: swimming by herself, riding a bike, and learning to read. She can spend entire days on projects like puzzles and painting. Independent and determined, she runs here and there and everywhere. She runs fast and low like a gymnast; I marvel at her sturdiness - it's a reflection of her soul. My own heart swells with pride as I watch her. But my greatest moments of pride are when I see her walking home from dinner holding the hand of her little sister. Protecting and caring for the little person and heart who loves her so greatly in return. Even now, over baby dolls, water-colors, cereal snacks, and bedtime giggles, my girls are forging a bond that will carry them through adulthood. Claire Bear is a good big sister.
If I want to find Katya, I look for the neighbor girl, Lea. She hovers over Katya, and Katya follows her everywhere. I've been in denial that she wasn't really my baby anymore, until this afternoon when she woke up from her nap, put her shoes on, and joined the rest of us at the trampoline with a smile on her face. No longer a baby, but a resourceful little toddler full of spunk, tease, and cuddles. Her biggest problem these days is trying to figure out how to carry her two favorite baby dolls and a blanket all at the same time. That, and finding time to play on Daddy's iPhone when the other kids won't take it away. "I iPhone, Mommy?" I iPhone?" "Where iPod?" Her first full sentences have come in the past few weeks - "Mommy, C'are Bear in my bed!" and "Mommy mad at you!" and "I want soy miwt." At two years and two months old, she is doing trapeze tricks that have her father and I seriously considering installing pillows under the play structure outside. While our stomachs leap into our throats, we bite our tongues and say nothing, because her sister and brothers have already done this before her - we've been trained. Bath time and jumping on the bed with her sister, swinging, painting, playing in the sandbox, writing with chalk on Mommy's walls, and stealing the cereal box for a snack rendezvous with Claire…these are the things Katya's life is made of.
At night after reading our bedtime book, the kids all go to their rooms.
I lay down between the girls for a moment. "Jesus song, Mommy. Jesus song," she says. I sing "Jesus Loves Me" and then "Jesus Loves The Little Children." Claire only likes it if I make a raspberry sound between phrases. Katya laughs because Claire is laughing. Then I kiss them both goodnight, and tell them to go to sleep. I close the door, and leave.
Katya opens it a minute later. I put her back.
She opens it a minute later, and I put her back again. Another kiss, another "good night."
The boys want kisses and hugs, and after they've exhausted every excuse for staying up longer, we shut their door. They chat, laugh, and bond together in the dark long after we've gone. I call up to them to quiet down, but am secretly delighted that they enjoy each other's company, even if they should be asleep.
Katya's in our room at 2:00 am. She wants to sleep in our bed, but I tell her she can sleep on the floor. She already knows where the sleeping mats and blankets are, and shows me which one she wants. She's asleep as soon as she lays down. Claire follows within an hour, sniffling. "Katya is not in bed." She gets her mat, puts it down next to Katya's, spreads her blanket out flat, and crawls under it.
I drift off contentedly, knowing it's just a season…and it's passing all too quickly.
