Where Did the Time Go?

timeforinspiration.blogspot.com

The other night we watched The Sting, set in the 30’s and made in the 70’s. I was struck by something so jarring that it pulled me out of the movie.

Robert Redford. He bears a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt. Mr. Redford is one hot octogenarian.

Okay, to be honest, my husband pointed this out (the resemblance, not Mr. Redford's all-American hotness) and then returned to movie watching. For me, this was all the distraction my random brain needed to begin drifting.

A movie, made in the 1970’s –  10, 20, 30, 40 odd years ago. I feel like a second grader counting off my tens to get to 100.

Time. 

oneinchtall.com

It flows quickly over the good occasions; birthdays, beach days, and weddings. It creeps by with painful slowness during dreadful moments, like exams, root canals, and funerals.

My fortieth birthday crept up a while back and I celebrated with hot tub, friends, my Drew, and dancing around the living room of my big yellow house. That was two Septembers ago. I’m quickly approaching the third year since that Jacuzzi festival and it seems like a day, maybe two has passed since then. I feel the same. Look relatively similar, but three years have indeed passed.

My girls have changed as greatly as I have remained the same. There’s a world of difference between ages four to seven and eight to eleven, compared to 40 to 43. Maybe that’s why I seem to notice the passing of time so much more than I once did.

coroflot.com

My babies are growing. My eldest is on the cusp of adolescence and now I understand why grandmothers take new mothers by the shoulders and square them, speaking seriously and from the heart. “Treasure every moment, they grow up so fast.”

I’m not close to being a grandmother, but I already feel that grandmother wisdom. My babies have grown fast and there’s no way to stop them.

Although it’s only July and, according to the calendar nowhere near New Year’s, I am close to a new year for myself. Autumn is calling. Another birthday approaches.

My new year resolution:

Live in the present with my daughters. Treasure every moment.

idlehearts.com

Why I Write Children's Books

I am frequently asked this question. You’ve got talent, people say. Why not write for adults? Why write for kids? 

The answer is utterly simple.

Because, I love exploring how kids think. What makes them do what they do and react they way they react? 

Just stop and imagine what the world would be like if everything you saw and did was new and every experience your first.

Think back to your childhood. Think back to when the training wheels came off your two wheeler. Think of the first time you rode that bike and didn't wipe out in your neighbour's rose bush. What about the first time you rode your bike to the library, or to school - by yourself?

And, I have the most inspiring discussions with my girls. This morning's conversation with my seven year filled me with joy. The following is a good example of the types of daily chats I have with my children. (Usually prior to 8 am and most often on only one cup of coffee.)

Youngest Child: “Mommy, when is Daddy going to kick me out?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Youngest: “When is he going to kick me out of the house?”

Me: “Oh, sweetie, he’s just joking. He won’t kick you out. But someday, probably after university, you’ll want to move out.”

Youngest: “Oh, no Mommy, I’m not going to university.”

Me: “Oh, what are you going to do instead?”

Youngest: “I’m going to live on the lam.”

Me: “Do you know what that means?”

Youngest: “Yup. I’m going to live in the wild and go to places that no one has found yet.”

Me: “Where did you get this idea?”

Youngest: “Bugs Bunny. He never went to college.”

Me: “You do understand you can’t grow up to be Bugs Bunny. He 's a cartoon…and a bunny.”

Youngest: “I know that mommy. I don’t want to be Bugs Bunny. I’m going to be Tweety Bird.”

Me: “Well, you’ve gotta’ have goals.”

With logic like that following me around every minute my children are in my presence, what choice did I have?

Law? Too serious. Medicine? Too icky. Writing children’s books? Just right.