Much has changed for us lately: we are preparing to close on our new home (!), we are fixing to ditch this tiny apartment and rescue most of our belongings from storage (!!), I started school yesterday, and my excited toddler began a preschool/daycare combo at a local church since he is the ripe, old age of three. Yes, a rolling stone gathers no moss; so, I guess, that makes us...moss-less.
Except, for all those times we stop and remember...what things used to be like. You know, the summer things.
I'll admit -- when the heavenly harp strum on my iPhone alarm lulls me out of a deep slumber each morning now at 5:30, my dreaming really encompasses cuddling on the couch with Reid for PBS cartoons and trying to pretend that "The Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot About That" theme song isn't...well...catchy enough to sing while I waste the morning away in my jammies.
I think Reid remembers the summer life too. Yesterday afternoon when I picked him up from daycare, his teacher informed me that he was "deep in thought" during lunch; so far away, indeed, that she asked him, "Reid, what are you thinking about?" She giggled as she prepared to provide me his curt and detached response, "I'm not thinking of anything." (Which I knew, by the way, was a complete rouse -- he is a thinker.)
Once in the car, I conducted my own interview with the tousled hair, backseat passenger: "Reid, your teacher said you were thinking about something at lunch. What were you thinking about?" With no delay, his tender, contemplative response leveled me.
"I was thinking of you, Mommy. I miss YOU," his small voice offered.
With wet eyes, I drove the three minutes home...flipping through my mental card catalog of summertime joys. The truth: at lunch yesterday, I sat thinking too: of toddler silverware and compartmentalized melamine plates, and of the warm milk, stories, and nap that always followed, and of the times he told me, "You're my friend, Mommy."
So, we change. Our schedule. Our address. Our hours. Our ages. We gather no moss; we just keep rolling. Even though we do, there are still the memories which tether our hearts...begging us to stop and dally in what was, to reassure what is, and, to dream of what will be again.