The Circle Game
What a weekend. I'm exhausted! It's like we tried to pack every bit of summer into the last two days.
Aside of MandoSon having two teeth extracted (in preparation for braces) bright and early Saturday morning, we've been, well, partying, for the most part. Daughter of Mando turned 7 earlier this week, and so of course, the best thing to do when you've decided not to have a party is to spend the entire week celebrating! Yesterday we had family and friends; today she got a surprise party at a stuff-your-own-favorite-friend kind of place. Add in a couple trips to the pool and a few spur of the moment playdates, and, well, let's just say everyone's ready for bed at 9:30 on a Sunday night.
But I know these days are on the wane. Not only are there just a few days of summer left before school starts, there are only a few short years before my children likely stop wishing to have anything to do with me in public. Funny how it used to be the other way around; I so distinctly remember having to leave a special Good Friday dinner at a restaurant that my three-year-old son did not find all that engaging.
Where did the time go? It's frightening. I find myself bracing for adolescence all over again with my oldest, and trying to get the last bit of baby-ness out of my youngest, who at seven is so observant, creative, and blatantly and hilariously honest that it sometimes knocks the breath out of me.
I don't think I have ever gotten all the way through Joni Mitchell's Circle Game, ever, without crying. It is the perfect song for days like this, spent with my two beautiful babies who are doing a beautiful job of growing day after day after day, year after year. I can't live their lives for them, or protect them from everything, or teach them every lesson. That's what will happen to them as life unfolds. All I really can do is love them completely and unconditionally and assure them that I always will, while we listen to the sounds of the summer night, watch bats fly over head, and try to catch the last few fireflies of the season.