Spending weekday mornings at our little city zoo & conservatory during the winter is magical. Warm, streaming sunlight enveloping you from every angle, the fragrance of greenery and spring flowers tickling your nose, the peaceful quiet, the space for children to roam and wander and explore and not be in anyone's way.
For some reason, being in this wonderfully charmed place reminds me that these days truly are fleeting. These slow weekdays with my children, in the middle of a relentlessly cold winter, it won't be like this forever.
Gus is growing up, he will be in school in the mornings next year on my days off of work. The year after next, he will go to Kindergarten full time, every day. And next up will be his little brother.
Someday not far off it will end, these little whimsical adventures. There won't be enough time. The schedules of four people will be too full. We will have to play hooky from "real life" to make these things happen. It will become more inconvenient and more difficult as time goes on to spend our mornings like this, to wake up and say, "What should we do today?"
Time doesn't stand still. And that is a good thing, because this life stage is so much work, the zipping up of tiny coats and the wrestling with car seats, reminding little boys to wash their hands after going to the bathroom, tripping over Legos and tiny plastic animals strewn all over the living room, making your 1,000th peanut butter and jelly sandwich, kissing skinned knees and wiping messy faces, playing mediator for sibling squabbles, pacifying cranky toddlers in the grocery store with crackers. It is a mother's work. It is good work, but it's still work, and it can be tedious.
I wouldn't want it to last forever.
But still, the realization that it won't be like this forever hits me with sadness. I know I will miss this.
These days are fleeting.