Time Flying Badge

This is about minute 33 of the fit where she screams, "Stop taking pictures of me."

Usually I write during nap time. Today I'm changing things up. We are in minute 43 of my almost 3 year old's time out. You might be able to hear her at your house right now. It sounds like the Exorcist meets late-night neighborhood cat/rabbit fight. I keep asking her if she's ready to be all done. After I'm brutally rebuffed, she breaks into a violent fist-pumping rendition of the "Oompa Loompa" song.

Yes. This is for real. I couldn't in my wildest dreams make this up.

Last week I almost blogged about having the perfect day; about how for a brief moment I had been given a reprieve from crazy town. I wanted to write about it, but I just couldn't do it. One, because I knew some of my friends weren't having that kind of day. And two, because I knew it wasn't going to last.

With a few exceptions, if I am really happy or really sad or really angry or really anything, I can hold my breath and the moment has passed. There isn't a lot of time for basking. It seems that every moment, every experience is fleeting - at least in this season of my life. I feel like for the first time I believe, I understand, I live within the constraints of "time flying."

On our three-day road trip home from Maine a few weeks ago, I tried an experiment. Every time I started to have a buildup of angry emotions - like I wanted to shove Michael's iPad down his throat or drop my kids at the rest stop - I would look at the clock and tell myself if I still felt the same way in 15 minutes I would take action. I'm happy to report that Michael's iPad is still intact and all four kids made it home.

This time flying thing is good and bad, isn't it? It's good when I'm mad. Case and point - my husband and kids are safe and well. It's good when I'm feeling down. Today I'm in one of those "Do I have any friends?" funks. Do you have those? Bleh. But I've only been counting my friends and making the "reasons you are not alone list" in my head for about an hour. Already I'm starting to feel better. Time flying is good when I'm discouraged, stressed, lonely, sad. Time flying is good when my kids are naughty, when Michael is a butt or when a vacation is still a month away.

But there are days like last week when I want to reach out and grab time by the throat and tell it to slow the hell down. Maybe to stop all together. I know it's unrealistic and not possible. I know if I stopped time now I'd miss out on great things to come. I know every cliche thing you could tell me about time flying by. I've just been finding it difficult lately to give myself fully to the moment, to really let go and really enjoy and really feel when I know that in the blink of an eye - more like the poke of an eye in our family - it will be gone.

It kind of hurts.

In the middle of the most wonderful occasions I find myself - just for a brief moment, of course, because time is flying - feeling sad. When we're eating dinner with friends, relaxing on a date, chatting with neighbors, sharing our "happy and sads", singing in the car, enjoying our family, I hear a voice that reminds me that this won't last. At least not here.

It's in those gut-aching moments that I'm reminded and hold onto and am deeply thankful for a time coming that is everlasting. A time that is never ending. A time that is endless. A time where my joy is permanent. (A shout out to U2 for writing a song that reminds me of this.)

And as it always does, time has passed and Ella is finished fitting. My writing time is over.