Nine

Time is racing by. Today, I looked at my sweet, beautiful, radiant 9-year old daughter and had a momentary freak out.  She is nine.  NINE.  When I was nine, I definitely began feeling the early surges of independence.  At times I was fully compelled to rebel against authority, whether it was a teacher, an adult in charge, or my parents.  I was obsessed with horses and the idea of a boyfriend.  I was completely enamored with my friend Suzanna, who breezed in and out of each day with authority and confidence.  I risked punishment to do what I wanted to do, and did it even when I was commanded to stop.

I wanted my parents to understand me, and to listen to me, and to tell me that I could go right on ahead and do what I wanted to do.  But my Dad was mostly absent, as he traveled extensively for work, and my Mom was fundamentally unable to understand my desire and need for more control of my life.  This was the year where she and I began to be at odds with each other more often than not. It was the year I began to be grounded.   It was the first time I based my decisions about what to do based on whether or not I would get in trouble. It was the year I began to be spanked with a wooden spoon because apparently the force needed had somehow grown greater.

When I look at my precious daughter, I am blown away by how big, yet little she is.  I see the age of nine as another year of experience, another year of growth.  But the time it has taken to get to age nine seems about a fraction of nine whole years.  It seems like it’s been about 2 years, maybe. 

So, when I see this great kid growing up and being NINE, and I think about where I was emotionally, physically, and relationship-wise when I was nine, I am completely blown away.  She is much more innocent that I was.  Still very much dependent on me for the tiniest of things.  Very much unwilling to spread her wings of independence, and, in fact, not willing to even consider them.  At this moment, I am so thankful that I can still help her with so many things that I wouldn’t have ever asked help for at her age.  I'm gracious for the opportunity to observe her growing at her own pace, and without the bulk of the demands and situations that shaped me by my 9th year. 

Kids grow so fast.  I knew time flew before I had kids, but it seems like once they are a part of your life, the calendar hits rocket-speed, and only continues to go faster.  I am hoping I can find ways to span moments into lifetimes more often, so that all this doesn’t just pass me by.

I promise to work more on being the kind of perfect parent I want to be, because my precious, beautiful, amazing, quirky, funny, silly, and brilliant girls deserve that more than anything else.

Today, I am very much feeling the passing of time, and feeling a little blue about it. And I rarely feel blue...