Twelve years ago this journey began. Our twin boys were six and I initially just wrote about the cute stuff they did. In fact, the name of this blog came to be because one day I heard them chanting “ihopeiwinatoaster; ihopeiwinatoaster” over and over in the basement. Time passed, I tried to go a little deeper, say important things. However, those cute boys are at university now and their stories are their own. So, what’s an old blogger to do? Well, I guess that’s what I am trying to find out.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
What to do on the First Day of School
I am not going to do anything I should do today for the boys first day of Fourth Grade. Oh don't worry, we got a couple pics of them before school today, Marci posted them on FB, so, it's documented. And, me, well, I will be sure to love and cherish and... blah, blah, blah.
But, honestly, that's not what I am not doing today.
I'm not going to vacuum up the layer of dust and dirt and mayhem that boys throw down from their very souls. I am not going to start another load in the washer and wonder at the largeness of their shorts, the deepness of their grass-stains, the very bigness and wholeness of these perfect mancubs.
I won't mow the grass their feet have run through all these years, won't pull the weeds tangled in the flowers they so eagerly planted in the spring. I won't quietly walk the yard, finding their stick swords and sabres and axes and hammers, collecting them to save in their citadel of a playset.
I am not going to find the time to wipe the finger and palm prints off the glass door where boys watch hawks and bonfires in the neighbor's yard, nor the yogurt stains on the baseboards. I won't open the refrigerator and wonder where the milk goes, nor consider the staples on the shelves, the schedule glaring at me from the calendar.
I will consider doing these things, I'll consider them. Truthfully, I already have and it's taken all morning. I think about things and waves and waves of memory and melancholy come over me, I play with my sons and they dance with me, now and sometime past. I welcome the waves.
I won't really have time do my chores, the things I've put off for summer's end - the basement's dank, the screen-door's rip, the bushes, the maples, the mulchless beds.
I am going to be busy, you see, I've got to figure, consider, that is, how this...
... became this?
Where did these boys come from?
Confident, strong, ready... how did this happen, when? But, but... this is not a lament for flying time. Time does not fly, time does not meander. Time beats, steady as heartbeat. We are the ones who make it seem to go so fast.
You see, I have the time to remember, I look for the time, I relish the time. I have the time to savor and celebrate and weep and laugh. Time for hope and wonder - my hope and my wonder - forever entwined with Nick's and Zack's, I watch them root again in the fertile souls of these beautiful boys and their edgeless future.
The damn chores can wait.
From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."
"I am not going to retaliate, because *I* am *nice* ... and *you* should look that word up."
*indicates air quotes.
I know who said this...
Thanks for stopping by, lets go out on the porch and remember today. It'll take all afternoon, I hope you don't mind.
Yeah, yes, of course you can bring your guitar...
Perhaps I can bring my memories of other boys in days past. Hope the day was good.
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