Sap and Contemplation Don't Mix

I must have childhood on the brain.  I think Christmastime demands that of many of us.

How many of you have heard Taylor Swift's song "Never Grow Up"?  I fully admit to being a fan of her music, even if that makes me a wannabe teeny-bopper.  (I don't wanna be a teeny-bopper, just for the record.  It was hard enough the first time.)  Anyway, I was listening to that song, and I sat in front of the speaker and cried big, hot tears.

My babies, all  three of them, are growing up, even though we tell them and tell them not to.  We even threaten them, and still they sprout.

I'm of two minds about this.  Yes, I'm selfish and want them to be ALL MINE for the rest of their lives and the rest of mine.  I want them always to run to me when they're hurt and to be able to make everything all better with a hug and some soft words.  I always want them to be small enough to pull into my lap and think that their mom is the best and brightest.

In the other mind, I am so proud of their continued accomplishments.  It's amazing to see the ways they display their sense of self and show the world what they're made of.  I love that blazing look of triumph when they've accomplished something they had to work hard for.  I love it when they "get" my jokes and understand new concepts. (Though, admittedly, getting my jokes doesn't necessarily mean understanding anything but puns.)

My husband is fond of saying that parenthood is the only job where your goal is to make yourself obsolete.

How do we make those opposing minds meld?  How do we give our hearts and time and lives fully to these little humans and feel fine about it when we've accomplished our job and they no longer need us? 

See?  This is what that horrid-looking Christmas tree has done to me.  It makes me see childhood as something precious and fleeting and something to be savored.  Blech.  Or Bah Humbug, as my husband says continuously this time of year. 

Speaking of the tree... well, thanks Becca for the orange slice suggestion.  So far, that's the nicest looking thing about the seven-foot monolith taking up half the living room.  That, and my daughter's paper star perched lopsidedly at the top.

Ah... childhood.