My own years of childhood seemed to take so long. Somehow ages 6-16 seemed like its own lifetime. Now I blink and it seems months pass. I do a load of dishes and my child looks less like a toddler, more like a tiny man. I go to work and suddenly my baby looks like a stranger, too big and vocal to really be my 3 month old. I’m not on anything, don’t worry. I’m just caught in the blur of life and my children growing constantly. Jidge turned 3 this week. It was terrific we ate cake and he opened his gift and ran around with Buzz Lightyear “flying” in his arms. But I saw something different in the happy scene. In his sweet capable hands I saw his fork, no longer unsure and in need of mommy’s hands. I heard his happy chatter, full of words from his ever growing vocabulary and tinted by a quick wit that often seems out of place in a 3 year old. I felt his impatience as I hugged just a little too long, squeezing goodbye to the two year old he would never again be. For a moment I could see him, no longer a baby or even a preschooler, I could envision that someday in that seat would be a man. These moments of childhood are slow and relaxed to my son but to me they fly at a disconcerting speed. Every moment I miss with him is irreplaceable, because he will never again be this little. Once a moment has passed it can not be regained. This is why I am leaving teaching next year to stay home for a time, as a teacher I live in a different kind of time warp, one where children never age. See to a Kindergarten teacher children are perpetually 5 to a 8th grade teacher they always stay 13 and so on and so on. When I return to teaching it will be as if I never left. Whatever grade I teach, as always, my students will progress only 1 year before I set them free and begin again. But at home time moves as steady as a heartbeat, never truly ceasing even in the moments you hear nothing. It is here, in this constant forward, motion I find myself thankful that God has allowed for me to be home these next few years.