The Noticing

"From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere."
Dr. Seuss

Today's conversation between Trevor and I went like this:

"Trevor, have you seen Taryn? Like, did you see which way she went? She told me she would be out here playing with you."

"No. I didn't see her at all. Oh, man. Is Taryn going to be on an Amber Alert now?"

Things like this happen in our house all the time. Funny little conversations that are very serious to my 7 and 9 year old, but that just make my husband and I laugh. Oh, and don't worry. About 10 seconds after Trevor declared her about to be the subject of an Amber Alert, Taryn came walking up the sidewalk from the neighbor's house. Phew. Tragedy averted for another day.

People often tell me that my kids are funny. I don't think they are. I mean, they are. Yes. But I don't think that they are any funnier than anyone else's kids. I just think that I notice.

I have been keenly aware of my fleeting time with my children ever since I remember. When Taryn was 2, I called my best friend on Christmas morning and said, 'I can't believe I only have 16 of these left with her at home!" It isn't normal. Don't think for one second that I believe that to be a typical thing to occur to a mom of a toddler on Christmas morning, but that's my brain for you.

It can be a curse. In fact, I often have to force myself to enjoy the moment rather than stress out about it vanishing. But the gift of it is that I take a mental note of most of the little nuggets of humor, innocence, or childlike brilliance that come up in our day to day existence. I love to share them with my husband, or in blogs. And I think my hope in sharing them is to spark "the noticing" in other people. Almost inevitably another mom will say, "That reminds me, just the other day little Bobby said..."

How special it is for parents to take on a perspective that doesn't wish away the exhausting, needy, dependent years, but rather sees them as a fleeting blessing that must be purposefully observed, and recorded in the deepest crevices of our hearts.

Some day, when there are no more toys to trip over, or tears to dry, the memories of these funny little people trying to make sense of the world will be our best friends. Each face. Each mispronounced word. Each time they wondered if they would see their sibling on an Amber Alert when she was just at the neighbor's.

OK, maybe not that last one.

Echoes

The house is starting to echo. You know, that way an empty building does. We haven’t moved very much out, but today I called to Jayme from the room that I was packing, and I heard that hollow empty return that made my stomach turn. We are leaving home.

This little building has been our home for 13 years, and it has been a place of safety, love, warmth, and hope. We brought our babies home to lovingly prepared nurseries right here. We paced the hallway with scrawny infants for hours on end in the middle of the night here, and built blanket forts that stayed up for days. We put our Christmas tree in the same corner every year, and hang backpacks on the hooks by the front door. I can still picture the different backpacks, a new one each year, but there they have all hung.

Occasionally I cry. It’s not because I am sad, but rather because my heart is directly attached to my tear ducts, and when I reflect on all of the happy memories that we have built in this home, it shows up in wet little drops on my cheeks.

Our next house will be the first house we have moved into without our dog Max. Our first “child”, if you will. We got her in college before we were married, and had her for 14 happy years. It’s not good or bad, just something I think of.

I am so excited to buy our next house. It will be the first house we have bought as a family. We bought this house with the hope of a family, but we bought it for ourselves as a young, married couple with theoretical children who would probably like it too. The next house will be bought for all of us. Taryn’s bedroom will be larger, with space for a desk, and reading corner, per her request. Trevor’s room will be trickier, as he demands it be identical to his current room. Naturally. I don’t know what the house will have, but I know that it will be for us from day one- all four of us. That thought is lovely, and exciting, and worth the occasional tear drop brought about by an empty echo, or as my heart suddenly stumbles upon a scene from the past in an unexpected place.

I am totally grateful, and totally blessed.

The best is yet to come.