Short but sweet

I apologize for the gap between posts. That being said...

Yesterday I went to my son's 4 grade memory day. In our town, children attend middle school starting with the 5th grade (!) 4th grade memory day is designed to do 3 things:

1) Applaud the 4th grader's achievements from the past five years.
2) Send them on their way to middle school.
3) Make their parents cry like babies.

As soon as the slide show and Celine Dion music began, the tears started flowing. As I watched photo after photo of my son and his friends commemorate each moment from Kindergarten through the present, I desperately tried to control the waterworks with the stash of tissues I had stuffed in my purse. My husband was able to avoid this by viewing the montage with his video editor's "eye", winicing in pain at each poorly executed music transition. The pinnacle of his pain was having to sit through "We Built This City" by Starship, voted the worst song ever made (he's a product of hippies and can't stand to see how Jefferson Airplane morphed into Starship... but that's another blog)

Following the graduation ceremony, there was a bbq for parents and children at which we marveled over how quickly our kids had gone through the 5 years of school. This is nothing new to parents, we all have trouble wrapping our minds around how fast our children grow and change.

Last night, as my husband was reading stories to my kids at bedtime (yes, we still read to them, though the 10 year old has long been able to read for himself...they just like it and so do we!) I was lying on my couch in the living room, reading a book of my own and absently fiddling with the petals of a peony on the table beside me. I had cut the peonies on Wednesday night for a get together, and here it was, two days later, falling apart at an alarming rate.

I think peonies are beautiful, fantastic smelling flowers. But like lilacs (my other favorite) they are only enjoyed for a short period of time. All too soon the blossoms curl up, or the petals fall off. The fragrance lingers in the air even after its obvious that the stems and petals should be composted.

It reminded me of my children's youth. For an all-too-brief stretch of time our children are sweet, innocent, wholly enjoyable beings. Too soon they adapt to the harsh world around us, concerning themselves with peer pressure, teacher expectations, an uncertain future as adults themselves.

Sure it would be nice if our kids were like carnations, a flower that can hold its shape and fragrance for an unbelievable length of time (too long if you ask me). But the carnation isn't that pretty, nor does it smell that nice. Its actually one of those flowers that I feel guilty throwing away because it stays fresh long after I get sick of looking at it.

So my kids are peonies and lilacs. Sweet, intense, beautiful and a joy of nature. Like the peony, I need to enjoy my children's youth while I have it, since before I know it they will be moving on to teenage and adult years. Sure, they will still be my loving, incredible children, but that intense period of youth will fall aside like the petals of the flowers I enjoy so much, too fast, too soon.