If I knew twenty six years ago that my babies would grow up in what felt like five years, move away and live happy independent lives, I think I would have changed a few things. Chelsea and Sacha often say, "Well Mom it is your own fault, you raised us to be independent... you should have raised us to be dependent on you."
Game Changer Number One:
Tie the apron string around the child, forego a bow, instead add a double knot.
Chelsea came home for the weekend. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. How can that be? As we walked along the sea, the waves rolled in and out, the seagulls sung, the twirl and shape of the clouds gave away to the wind, as the sun faded in the horizon.
Very little remains the same. Then as it is with life things, a Stevie Nick's song came on in my head:
"...Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?..."
"...But time makes you bolder
Even children get older and I'm getting older too..."
How can I complain? How can I? I shouldn't, I'm not, call it melancholy... a sober thoughtfulness.
Having Chelsea home, on a beautiful winter day... if only Sacha were here too.
Whenever we went out for the day, when the children were little people, and had fun, more than your average day of fun, I would ask Sacha and Chelsea, "How did you like your day?"
It never failed that Sacha would throw himself on the ground and cry, and I mean cry.
"I didn't have fun at all. Not at all! It was a terrible day! It wasn't long enough" Then he would roll around on the ground sobbing.
In the beginning, I use to feel angry, I use to think to myself, "What a brat!" I would pick him up off the ground, give him a hug while look him in the eye, "Sacha? Honestly? A terrible day? After all the fun things we did, after the treats, and being altogether you honestly can say it was a terrible day?"
And he would nod, "Terrible!" with big sloppy tears.
I would stare in amazement while controlling my frustration, then put my hands in the air and look to French Husband for an answer. We would shrug and shake our heads while he cried.
After several episodes of his faithful reaction to a good day, it dawn on me what he meant....
The day was over. He was sad. And he was responding to the fact that the day had come to an end.
Instead of saying, "I am sad the day is over."
The day was not long enough, and that is how it is suppose to be.