Friday Night

It's 8 pm.

We had a little dinner on the patio at the local Mexican restaurant, visited with Papa and Oma for a few minutes and got two dozen organic eggs for pancakes in the morning, and now I've settled in with my book. Typical. Friday. Night.

Asher is at Space Camp with his 5th grade class. The girls are playing with their Barbie dolls in the bath. D's asleep on the big chair in the living room. So, I'm left to ponder...

Every period of my life as a mama is so long yet so fleeting... I will be dealing with teenage drama before I turn around so I should bask for a moment longer in the sunlight of simplicity. Bask in the glow of perplexing monotony.

I observed the parents with their new babies and huge diaper bags and realized this is my past. I noticed a father meeting his twenty-something daughter for a margarita, queso and chips, and a recap of the week's events and realized this is my future.

I feel in limbo at every period of my life. I enjoy it. I take it in. I learn. I adapt. I wonder. And, just as I figure it out... it morphs into something new.

It fascinates. Keeps me in constant motion. Pondering. Transforming.

Mesmerizing motherhood. How else can it be described?

I'll go and help the girls wash their hair. Bathe them with wisdom. Take in their perfect smiles, genuine giggles, crooked new adult teeth trying to squeeze into their child-size mouths, sparkly eyes... pint-size perfection.

I'll hear the normal I've been observing for months. And, then... there will be something new. Something new that will soon turn into the normal. Then the normal will turn into a memory. A memory of how they used to talk. And play. And interact with me.

And Friday night will never be the "same" again.