Irony

Today I was talking to our neighbour who has one child (of seven) left at home—and he's fifteen. She was hosting the neighbourhood "stroll and snack" (where you stroll to a neighbour's house, visit and eat) and there were children running all around her yard, shouting and laughing. It really transformed our street. It was back to how it was about twenty years ago—before all the children grew up. That's really how long our street hasn't changed—all the houses are full of empty-nesters—most of them the same families from twenty years ago—and our two little girls are the only children on the street. My neighbour's eyes got misty as she told me how quickly children grow up and how you miss them when they do.

"That's funny," I told her. "I was just crying because my kids aren't grown up."

And it's true. I just about broke down sobbing (as in, I cried, but not ugly-cried) while making dinner. My family came over to celebrate Andrew's birthday (yes, again). I was making pizza dough and Miriam had found some popcorn and kept throwing it into my yeasty water while Rachel was running around like a hooligan.

Neither of them napped today, which meant that I didn't get a nap, either (even though we all tried—they were up so late last night!) and I was so tired and they were so tired and crazy. They were like ticking time bombs—the slightest thing would set either of them off crying. Apparently I was faring no better. It was just a bad afternoon.

"Yes. That's kind of how it goes," my neighbour assured me.

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone...