Warning: Kindergarten Leads to Graduation

A few days ago I was setting up some new files for my kids' school papers...you know the papers that are so special that you need to keep them forever? As I was writing one particular file label, "Nick-11th grade", my mind flashbacked to a time about 11 years ago to my house in Washington where I began this paper-collecting. I had begun at that time to save EVERY paper my children brought home from school. By the time Nick was in 1st grade, three large cardboard boxes were stacked in my laundry room on top of the extra refrigerator. As I calculated the math, I realized that by the time Nick was out of high school, I would have more than 12 boxes of a menagerie of art work, math and language papers as well as other assortments of intelligent school work he had completed. Let's see...12 boxes times 3 children equals...36 boxes of very important yet space consuming objects. I would have to eventually sell furniture and use the boxes to sit on. Realizing that this was totally impractical, I decided that perhaps it would be just as meaningful to save a few papers throughout the year, deposit them in a file and then load all those files (36 or more) into one box. Much better idea!

That being said, I was dumbfounded as I wrote those words, "Nick-11th grade" across the top. How could that possibly be? He was just in Kindergarten yesterday, wasn't he? Only two more short years and no more file labels for Nick. I seriously doubt he'll donate his college papers for his sappy mother's files. Tears threatened to break open down my face as I realized that I am nearing the end of a season of life with one of my children.

How I long to slow down these days that seem to rush headlong into a week and then a month before I can blink. I want to savor the moments I have with Nick, like the lunch we had together, just he and I, after a doctor's appointment yesterday. These duet moments happen so infrequently now, but when they are available, I desire to snatch them up greedily as if I were hoarding the last piece of dark chocolate! My attention is fixed solely on him when no one else is clamoring for a piece of me. Nick feels less inhibited to share when his other siblings aren't present to listen to the conversation. Oh, if only life would run in slow motion these next two years; however, I have this sneaking suspicion it'll feel more like a thundering locomotive intent on reaching it's destination.