Is it just me or do you feel it too. It seems that every year, it comes faster and hits harder. 4th of July was just last week according to my mom internal time meter and as I innocently walk through the electric doors at Walgreen’s, I am met with Halloween candy when we haven’t even finished our back to school shopping.
You have gone too far corporate product marketers. We ignored it when you started selling Christmas decorations in October and shrugged our shoulders as you pushed Easter baskets on Valentine’s day, but enough is enough.
As a mom of high school aged children, I am asking, no, I am demanding, stop pushing the precious hourglass of time. It is passing plenty fast without any help from you.
Isn’t it enough that we live in a hurry up world where everything is due ASAP. We are signing our kids up for football in September that they won’t play until June and planning our kid’s college careers when they are still applying pimple cream.
It’s hard to take time to smell the roses when they are being cut and packaged for distribution before they even bloom.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not one of those moms that pine over the toddler years or smells babies’ heads. I celebrated the day the cribs went out the front door and the diaper boxes disappeared from our home.
I have long since taken the kindergarten hand prints down from the refrigerator door and we no longer need a bedtime ritual. I have embraced being the mother of responsible teenagers and taken my rightful backseat to school, activities and friends.
But as I notice the display of Halloween Candy mocking me from across the store, I can’t help but feel wistful.
I look at my kids in line at the checkout counter and see them for who they are, young adults, closer to college than preschool, closer to decorating dorm rooms than playing on the swing set in the back yard.
I have plenty of time left with these children of mine. I have years before they will leave for college or a career, but memories flood me as I wait for our turn in the checkout line, all the while the formidable Halloween Candy ridicules my maternal timeline.
It seems like it was yesterday that they were asking for a piggy back ride, learning to ride their bike, asking for one more bedtime story.
Snuggling during an afternoon nap, a blanket fort in the middle of the living room, catching fireflies on a slow summer night, suddenly all seem a million years ago and a longing begins to take hold of me .
I start to feel the lose of my babies growing up and leaving, the lose of my place in their lives, the realization that I will be an empty nester, and…
“Mom, Mom.” My daughter’s voice snaps me back to the present. We pay for our items and as we leave Walgreen’s I look over my shoulder one last time at the Halloween Candy berating the very essence of my motherhood.
As we get in the car, I suddenly suggest a game night for all of us, just to spend some time together. They all look at each other and shrug their shoulders while nodding their heads in agreement. It is decided a game night is in order. It has been a while and we laugh about the last time we stayed up all night over a game of Monopoly. Before we leave I run back in and grab a bag of m&m’s.
Touché Halloween Candy, Touché.