I recently found a note to myself, dated April 8, 2004. My son, an only child at the time, was not yet 3.
“I was shopping for the Easter Bunny at Target last night, so sad that most of the baby toys are too babyish for Cooper and so upset that most of the next level of toys are all big-boy toys — hot rods, soldiers, scary-looking superheroes. So I bought yet another Little People set and impulsively and irrationally wished for time to just stand still.”
I can’t count the number of times since that I’ve been similarly irrational, wanting to freeze a moment or two or 10 — and that’s just this week.
Our elementary school celebrated Valentine’s Day with classroom parties. More than one world-wise middle-school parent has warned me that these parties don’t happen past fifth grade. The universal message: Enjoy it while you can. So I soaked up as many details as possible.
Katie spent multiple pre-Valentine afternoons preparing cards for classmates. She wanted each envelope to be unique, choosing colors for friends based on their preferences and personalities. Each envelope was decorated with a design specific to the friend.
And then she studied each card, matching the illustration and sentiment to the appropriate recipient. (“This one has cats, and Noe loves cats, so ...")
Only then could she sign her name and draw inside pictures; those, too, needed to match the designated friend.
Cooper spent considerably less time on cards. His main concern was making sure that no girl received a message he didn’t intend. “You’re cool” is OK. “Be mine” is not.
I made an effort to not hurry Katie along or suggest that Cooper spend more time. Instead I focused on where they are right now. I can’t freeze time, but I can enjoy the time we’re in — when one child is eager to express her feelings for each and every person in class and the other is still completely disinterested in the opposite sex (and bewildered by friends who are interested).
I took photos of the kids before school Monday morning. (If I can’t freeze time, I can at least capture an image from it.) They hugged and posed without complaint. Who knows how long that will last?
Cooper willingly wore the shirt I suggested — a button-down with a hint of red. Katie dressed herself in an elaborate Valentine ensemble: dress with a rhinestone heart on the chest and tiers of multicolored ruffles on the skirt, socks covered in hearts, a bright pink cardigan and pink hairclips of bunnies wearing hearts.
At the fourth-grade party, I appreciated that Cooper and his classmates participated in silly games without complaint.
They blew up balloons and let them go, sending the balloons flying across the room — and almost never at the intended target. They stacked conversation hearts with chopsticks. No one was self-conscious or unwilling or too cool to play along. They didn’t flinch when Mom or Dad walked into the classroom.
The kindergarteners were giddy with cards to open, candy to sort, bingo to play and popcorn to eat.
Those 5-year-olds and 9-year-olds are going to keep growing. They won’t always find so much joy in a shoebox full of paper and sugar. One day, they won’t even have the option to decorate a box for a classroom party.
We can’t do anything to stop the process; in fact, we parents deep down really want them to grow up as they’re designed to do. But we can savor the moments in the moment and store the memories for later.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. E-mail her at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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