The days are long, still the years are short.
A three day twelfth birthday extravaganza has nearly done me in.
I’ll need some downtime.
Madelyn and I planned the details for weeks. We printed a play from Louisa May Alcott’s book Little Women.
We rented period costumes at the local Pandora’s Box. We dressed the table in florals and creams, washed my china and made fruit tarts, a bundt cake and cucumber tea sandwiches.
Without sharing the theme with Hannah, we watched the 1990s flick the night before for movie night, paying attention to details. Then I discovered the significance of the theme.
At twelve, our Hannah is growing up, becoming a little woman herself. Particular quotes popped to mind as I thought of her…
I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship.
I’ve got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I unlock the door remains to be seen.
I know my twelve year old self would have appreciated: You don’t need scores of suitors. You need only one, if he’s the right one. And a lesson I’m learning right now: Don’t try to make me grow up before my time.
Childhood is a journey, not a race.
If I’d only understood when it all began twelve years ago that childhood is a journey, not a race, I might not have been so quick to forge my way through the sleepless night stage, the tantrum twos (or threes, or fours), the sassy fives.
But how was I to learn the important things of life without the lessons children teach?
It’s Monday morning, the party weekend is over.
I have counters of dishes to put away, loads of laundry and studies to start, and mangled gift wrap to pick off the floor.