The edges of adults have been appearing in my oldest two children.
It happens in a moment.
I check on Anna and her friends and they look like teenagers, designing dresses and listening to music. It’s a flashback to the 80s with high ponytails, leggings and denim shirts.
Not long after she’s begging to go to story hour over spring break because I never get to now that I’m in school ALL DAY.
Back and forth, carrying around her blankies, curling up nex to me – and then loading the dishwasher and asking if she’s old enough to babysit.
I stare at her trying to memorize what she looks like right. now; freckles, delicate chin, sparkly eyes and sweet smile.
It happens in a moment.
We go to story hour. The little two sit on the carpet singing songs and listening to stories. Josh joins in me in the chairs wrapped up in another world. I glance at him and realize he’s discovered the true beauty of story hour, with the littles enthralled by someone else there is nothing for us older people to do but sit and read surrounded by hundreds of stories both true and imagined.
He looks so old riveted by a thick book, his cheek bones sticking out, all baby fat completely gone.
He glances up at me and says, Wasn’t it Benjamin Franklin that started libraries?
I nod.
He was a hero. And he grins. The little boy back for a second.
The enthusiasm of the little boy who wanted to check out all the “project books” from the library and then proceed to do every single project looks a little different in the tall skinny boy who spends hours looking through National Geographics trying to find cool maps to hang on our walls.
But, the fundamental trait is still there, just different.
The older they get, the more I realize their depth. What amazing individuals they are and will be – people I want to know.
It pulls at my heart strings, it makes me excited.
The past – and the change – are full of joy.