Last weekend I worked myself into a true funk after Sarah’s (belated) birthday party ended.
So, the party just left me fighting the funk.My memory often fails me now, but one moment at the end of what must have been an unusually harmonious night ten or eleven years ago (!!) sticks with me: Sarah was still a little one in diapers, just recently arrived at the really fun stage of toddlerhood, and Melissa and I had put her in her crib for the night and had now turned our attention to getting the older three kids to sleep. Samuel, four or five at the time, sat on his bed in his pajamas, fighting back tears. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” we asked. His reply caught us totally off guard: “I’m sad because I don’t want Sarah to grow up!”I’m totally with you, dude. But there’s no stopping it.So goodbye, footy pajamas. Goodbye, Lalaloopsy. Goodbye, bedtime stories.
Hello, boy problems. Hello, driver’s license. Hello, growing independence. I will do my best to embrace this new era, especially since I already know that this era, also, will too soon be “the good old days”.
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