Time passes

It’s unbelievable how quickly time passes. If you don’t believe me, just grab last year’s family album and wander through the pages at random. You’ll see clothes that no longer fit. Shoes that have long since been laid to rest. Baby fat that has been replaced by slender cheeks and longer legs.

Take a moment or two to gaze upon your screen saver as your digital memories pass at random across the screen. There are homes you no longer own. Cars you no longer drive. Loved ones you no longer see.

When we are young, it seems the days are endless. Weeks drag on like years when we are waiting for Christmas, our next birthday, summer vacation. Why does it happen, then, that when our children are young, time moves so much more quickly? If I wasn’t already aware of this phenomenon on my own, I was reminded yet again by our oldest this past weekend.

As Randy and I were leaving Oklahoma City after a long day of shopping, my phone rang; it was Cooper.

Cooper is a child who is most like his father: he speaks only when necessary. So for him to be calling must mean something is up. And as soon as he spoke, I knew something was.

I could hear my mom in the background trying to build him up, get him to smile. But as soon as he spoke, I could hear it in his voice. He was about to cry.

I had a pretty good idea what had happened just from listening to my mom and knowing my son as I do. You see, he has a certain odd (as I see it) attachment to his teeth. When he discovered his first tooth was loose, he was leaning forward, from the back seat of our parked car, looking in my rear-view mirror. I looked over my shoulder to see him in tears at the mere thought that his tooth might be thinking of going somewhere.

And sure enough, when it finally did decide to come out, there were a few more tears shed for the loss. The second was no different, and the third…the one he was fretting over this time…well, it seems to have followed suit.

I, of course, am proud and excited as I try to get the details from him on the phone. Through his tears, he tries to tell me how he had a sock in his mouth and Brisco was pulling on the other end and it yanked that tooth right out. At least I think that’s what he was trying to say.

I tried to console him from 100 miles away, but it was all for naught. And I had to admit as I hung up the phone, that what I really wanted to do was cry right along with him. For the loss of that tooth. For the passing of time. For the empty space in that little-boy smile.

As I sat listening to the hum of the road and the ramblings of Bob Barry, I wished for a moment that time could stand still. Yeah, I know. It’s only his teeth. But before I know it, his feet will be as big as his dad’s, he’ll be wearing deodorant (I hope), and he’ll be telling me how he’s planning to grow out his hair like all the other cool kids get to do. Hold the phone, folks. I’m not quite ready.

But what else is a parent to do? We can’t keep them young forever, and who’d really want to anyway? He still needs help in the bathroom, he can’t yet tie his shoes, and a lifetime of blowing someone else’s nose? No thanks. But oh, for that baby-faced smile!

In the end, we really have little choice in the matter. Time passes. Life moves quickly. Kids grow up. Pull out your old family album. You’ll see what I mean.

And that’s All in a day’s work!