I've been taking a little break from writing the last month or so. Not that I'm such an extreme blogger that it made a big difference. I've tried to guilt myself into it a few times. But the truth is, it was nice not having to constantly phrase our days into words.
We've spent our summer living through a lot of last little firsts. I wrote about some of that at the beginning, but experiencing them firsthand has been different than I thought it would be. Easier and harder.
Chloe has learned to doggy paddle a little this summer. Little things like that always shock me for some reason. It's another step away from babyhood, another little leap to the next phase in our world. I've been watching her- more than any summer before. I've watched her grow so tall. Her kneecaps are starting to stick out the way mine did. In spite of that, she carries herself so gracefully, back straight, shoulders back, chin up. She is regal. She's my little Audrey Hepburn. She is gracious and kind, thoughtful, charismatic. I'm seeing little signs of girlhood stealing over her, overshadowing her childlike features. Chloe has always been wise beyond her years. She has keen insights that sometimes pop out and surprise everyone but herself. I want to wrap myself around her, to shield her from the traumas of middle school, mean girls, boyfriends. I want her eyes to remain as clear and unclouded as they are now, I want her smile to be as joyous, her step to be as light. I know I can't do that for her. But God has equipped my Chloe with a grace I can't begin to grasp. Chloe's name means "green shoot"; in essence, new life. Fresh air. Pure light. She is springtime and autumn. She is the shift in our paradigms and perceptions. And she carries that with her, in her knobby knees, in her freckled face, in her stubborn, strong chin. This summer has just been the first of revelations for me, watching her grow so dramatically.
Atleigh, of course, is my last round of firsts. This has been a particularly nostalgic summer for me in that aspect. The other night at bedtime, she called me into her room to tell me her tooth was bothering her. It turns out it's loose. Her first loose tooth. My last first loose tooth. These last firsts have rushed upon me one after another, weighing on me too heavy to bear some days. Even recently, at her eye exam, she sat in the chair by herself for the first time, not even asking to sit on my lap. In a few weeks will be our last first day of kindergarten.
And Ashton's last first day of elementary school. We also lived through Ashton's first- and last- week of football practice. An elbow injury took him out of the running in the first week. The elbow is recovering, as is his ego, and we've signed him up for fall ball instead.
For the last year, he and I have been diligently working our way through Harry Potter's adventures. Last summer saw us through the first four books like wildfire, staying up into the wee smalls, sometimes even reading until the sun came up, until my voice gave out and I wasn't sure if my eyes were even open as I read. If there is one thing I know I've done right as a mother, it is this. Maybe not the all-nighters, although those don't bother me personally. The memories. The nights camping out on the porch, long after the rest of the house was asleep, the movie scores playing softly in the background. The crazy British accents (And yes. I've read the whole series aloud to him in the accent): Dobby's squeaky voice and Hagrid's low rumble. Ron's whimper and Hermione's scolding. Recreating these worlds in our own. Teaching him that as long as he can open a book, as long as he can use his imagination, that there is nothing that can stop him. He'll never have to be bored. Never have to feel alone. Never be at a loss for words or lessons or inspiration.
A few weeks ago we started the final book. We rushed through the sixth book in mere weeks, but starting The Deathly Hallows was hard for me. When Ashton would ask me every night to read to him, I would hesitate. Some nights I put him off. One night, I finally told him the truth. "I don't want it to end!" I said. "You don't understand, Bubba. When this is all over, that's it. It's done. We can't go back. We'll never have this first time again. I'll miss it. I'll miss our late nights and our secret jokes and our time together. What will we do when we're all done?!" His answer struck me. He merely smiled his sweet smile at me, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, the one he's been giving me since he was just a few weeks old. "Well, Mom," he said, "then we'll just have to read them to Chloe. Then to Atleigh. We don't have to stop here. We can keep going. It doesn't have to be the last time." And that wisdom, coming from a boy of ten, taught me more in that minute than anything else has all summer.
While part of me is so ready for these changes, another part of me is trying to grasp onto these moments and drag them to a stop. They're slipping through my fingers, like sand, like water, like summer sunshine itself. All these years- nearly eleven of them- I should have been stockpiling these days, savoring them, hoarding them to study and remember and pore over like a miser when they're all over. And yet... And yet they don't have to be all over. When these last firsts are over, well then, we'll just start again.
The truth is, there will always be little things to mourn. There will always be bittersweet moments to try and hold onto. Watching your last baby walk into her first class. Seeing your daughter grow from child to young woman before your eyes. Having your son teach you life lessons that perhaps you should have already known but blinded yourself to. All of these things have hit me like little punches in the heart. Little bruising blows that make me feel like pieces of me are breaking off, only to be replaced with more firsts that will eventually be lasts. That's what life is. That's what living is. And that's how I spent my summer.
{{Summer Photo Dump}}
Some of these are from my iPhone, some are from my Nikon, in no particular order. Bear with me; there's a lot of them. If you see yourself in these photos, thank you for being a part of our summer and our memories.
