Outgrown

                            

We had a nice day on Sunday. My grandmother turned 78 and we went to Charleston Place for breakfast to celebrate. I told my kids we were going somewhere fancy and they were excited. Not Olive Garden fancy, really fancy. They were so pleased. They put on pretty dresses. They were amazed by the beautiful chandelier and fountain. They sat down and laid their napkins in their laps and were served orange juice in wine glasses. The waiter called them miss. "Would you like some more juice, miss?" They raised their wine glasses, "Yes, please." They were so funny, they were little ladies. "Mom, we should eat here every Sunday." I smiled, "Sure-after we win the lottery." It was nice and relaxing and delicious. Afterwards we strolled through a graveyard near the parking garage. The stones were old and worn and the girls asked me to read them. I love old graveyards - people used to write books on their stones, "Here lies William F. Smith. Beloved son of  James and Sarah Smith. Departed this life on June 8th, 1740 at the age of 16 years, 6 months and 27 days." Those old graveyards are full of young people. It made me sad. Every time I read a stone my daughter would ask, "How did they die?" "I don't know -it doesn't say." Then I would read another, "But mom, how did they die?" I told her I didn't know and she got annoyed with me. Who does she think I am, John Edwards? I don't talk to the dead - I don't know, please don't hold that against me.

We went home and were lazy. I hosted my sister and her family for dinner but I hadn't gone to the grocery store so I made a hodge podge of random things that was left in the house. I made tortellini, mac and cheese, 1/2 a box of spagetti and sliced strawberries. She was very sweet and gracious but I felt kind of bad. I get to host again this weekend and make a legitimate dinner.

The night came quickly like it always does. The kids were bathed and ready for bed. I laid down next to my 8 year old and she read to me. Afterwards we sat and talked. We faced each other, forehead to forehead, nose to nose and she stretched out her body. "Mom, I am almost as big as you." I sighed, "I know, how do you feel about that?" She paused for a moment and thought. "I don't know. I'm afraid when I grow up and am in college, I will be so busy with school work and friends that I might forget about you." Keeping it honest. I ran my finger through my hair. "I am sure that you will. Just like now, when you are playing with your friends you don't think about me. But you know I am always here when you need me. It will be like that. That's okay. It's how it goes." I thought about that for a while. She is right. It's like this passage from a Jodi Picoult book, "I would have given anything to keep her little. They outgrow us so much faster than we outgrow them." I wish it would stop going by so fast. I don't want to be outgrown ever.