A Million Little Moments

I did my best to capture it.

It would have been simpler to snap a photo of our last school carnival, of course, but really I wanted to just soak in the moment: scores of face-painted, cupcake-laced kids running with joyful abandon through the maze of adults who both socialized and stood sentry for safety.

There was a time when I could have named most every adult and child in my sight line on that familiar grassy field, but those days and those people have been replaced with different days, and younger people. The ones I watched that evening were strangers to me, yet, they were also strangely familiar:

• I saw the mom pushing the stroller, two young children tagging behind. Her smile was there, but thin, and her voice was cheerfully forced as she urged the two lollygaggers to keep up, so as not to lose them in the crowd.
• I saw the new-to-the-neighborhood mom standing alone, looking for just one familiar face to connect with while she watched her child jump on the inflatables.
• I saw the mom of younger kids, sweat dripping while she chased them from game to game, wiping sno-cone syrup from sticky hands. I saw the mom in charge of the event, running to and fro with walkie-talkie in hand, anxious to ensure things on her watch went off without a hitch. And I saw the relaxed, laid back mom of older kids, talking with others like her, because this was not her first carnival and she knew, prize-drawing winner or not, everything would be. just. fine.

I knew all of them, because, I was all of them.

Someone commented to me about this being our last elementary school carnival. “But you can come back!” she said.

I smiled. Of course our family can go back to carnival. But we can’t, really, go back. We’re not the same as we once were. Our kids have grown and changed, and, for better or worse, so have we.

It’s a bittersweet thing, this growing of people. With one finishing elementary school tomorrow, and one entering her senior year in the fall, I’m beginning to feel the effects of what was, and what’s to come — for all of my children.

The truth is, it’s hard to leave behind the simple pleasures and easy problems of those early school years. We’ve all seen the other side, and we know there are hard days ahead. Maybe not tomorrow, or the next day, but they’re coming. And, oh! To have again the worries I thought I once had.

Recently in this space I shared 12 lessons I learned in 12 years of elementary school. (Click the links to read Part 1 and Part 2.) But when asked to share wisdom at an annual event along with the other graduating 5th grade moms, I found it difficult to narrow those lessons down to one thing, because that’s not how life works. As it turns out, life — and motherhood — is made up of a million little moments. Some moments are better than others, but if you’re really lucky, you get them all — regardless if you like them or not.

So whatever stage you are in, do your best to capture it. It will be gone before you know it.

 

A MILLION LITTLE MOMENTS

A million little hugs,

A million little kisses,

A million little smiles,

A million little wishes.

A million little mess-ups,

A million little lunches,

A million little play dates,

Because you love them bunches.

A million little carpools,

A million practices and games,

A million hours cheering,

Even in the rain.

A million little Band-Aids

For a million little scrapes,

A million little pictures

Hung everywhere with tape.

A million little whispers

Of a million little prayers,

For a million little dreams,

And a million little cares.

A million little memories

To cherish through the years,

Bring a million little laughs,

And a million happy tears.

So hold on to each child tightly,

If they’re blue or if they’re pink.

Because a million little moments,

Pass quicker than you think.