Everything is all right, and the boys are 10

We are ten years old. We are our mother's
sons. We are our father's sons. We are freakin' hilarious.

I can't believe I have two ten year olds.

Do you know what that means?

Ten years ago, we were miles away, on the East Coast, and everything was good. Great jobs, great friends, great house...

The twins were born, and boom! when we thought there'd be one, there was two, and it changed everything - I left my great job - have you done the math on daycare? We ended up moving. Things moved in a blur for a year and a half,  but it was all good and settled for a while. We spent two and a half years in Washington State. I got to stay home with my babies, and worked on a second degree so that staying home with my babies wouldn't be the doom of my career.

Isn't that horrible? That of all the things that I did, the one that brings me the most relief, is that I got to stay home with my babies, and with my eldest child. I work now, it's in my original field, but not an intense job, and until they are in high school, I don't think I can do intense, but that's okay, because I know the value of our time together.

I mean, when they were babies, I worked on my second degree, I wrote a book dammit, I did all these things, but what do I value of it the most? The photographs of my babies smiling at me randomly from the living room.The memories of their hugs. The memories of me hiding in the kitchen, crouched in the corner where they couldn't see me so I could sneak a quite moment of coffee, only to have them find me, and want a hug, so then I didn't want to hide anymore. The walks to the parks, the loooong trips to Fred Meyers (is it strange that some of my favorite memories involve shopping at a local northwestern store?) mixed with the memories of hugs and home-made cinnamon play dough and their goofy laughs.   My daughter, coming home from school, which was literally just around the corner, through a fence post, for snacks and mom-time. Making dinner. Waiting til they were in bed so I could write. Chasing my daughter's cat around to pull string out of her butt because my daughter's cat is the reason she can't have fringe. Helping decorate the kids' rooms. Taking them to ballet, gymnastics and those hilarious first attempts at socializing, when I was part of a mom's group that saved my sanity more than I ever knew until now? Yo, Kent moms, lookin' at you here...

The giggles, the lake we used to go to, the pre-pre-school... all of it.

Then we moved to Colorado. The boys were three.

Now the boys are ten years old. Drama girl is 17.

We've given them a stable home, a stable environment, a stable school. I stayed home for a couple years here, and walked them to the park, walked them to the circle, watched them play in the magical grove, took pictures of them all, the three of them, their friends, my friends - yo Poplar Grove peeps, our lives, all connected. Seven years. Plus three. Ten. Ten years old.

I can't pass by a newborn baby without flinching... give me my babies back, I think, but don't really mean, because I didn't miss those years, I was there, I had my babies, I had my time. Sometimes, I want to go back, to hug them one more time in their chubby wubby years, to see their delight, to hear the baby laugh, but it's okay, because lets face it, they still are my babies. I feel a little guilty because I am happy, more than happy, that I got to stay home with them before they were in school all day. And I look back at those days, occasionally, because they get older every day, and today they are ten, and when I look back I smile, because I remember how we played. I look at them today, and they are ten.

And they are ten.

They are ten.

Ten years old.

Whoa.