It was already 9:00pm. June, who should have been in bed two hours ago, was laying pantless on our bed wearing goulashes and a t-shirt, watching Puffin Rock. A more consistent parent might have insisted she go to bed, but as she laid there, I just couldn’t.
Sean and I spent the evening sorting through old albums and boxes of pictures. For quite some time, they have been not so nicely tucked away in a big tote whose lid couldn’t even close. Storage wise, it isn’t ideal. And more than that, all of these beautiful photos weren’t being enjoyed.
The lull of this endless winter and the knowledge of our next big life adventure has had me on a one-woman mission to downsize. So, last night Sean and I tackled that overflowing box of memories. One by one, we sorted and attempted to name years. We weeded out duplicate photos, blank photos and photos of old boyfriends that made me want to puke.
June, who laid on the bed now crossing her legs asked, “Mama, what are you doing?”
Glancing back at her as I held a picture from 2008, it hit me: It all goes so fast.
One by one, I tucked the photos into their new proper places, then I crawled in bed next to June. When she looked at me and said, “I not go to bed, Mama” I couldn’t disagree. Holding her in that moment, realizing how big she has grown lately, recognizing that she won’t be small forever, and having had one too many glasses of wine myself, I was lost for authoritative words. This beautiful child is mine. But only for a while longer. Who needs a proper bedtime on Fridays anyway?