Today is Sage’s 5th (!) birthday and it is such a cliché to say I can’t believe she’s already five when it feels like just yesterday I was carrying her around in the Baby Bjorn, feeding her bottles, and putting her down for twice daily naps. I don’t necessarily miss those days because I love the person she is becoming and watching her develop and grow. But it’s hard to know with all the certainty I can muster that those days have passed. Time marches on. And as she gets older, so do I. Sometimes that’s the hard part. Because I often still feel very much the same but as I watch Sage and Taggart grow and change, I know I am too. Sometimes that’s a little scary. And then they bring me back down to Earth or the present in one way or another. With Sage lately, it’s some of the things she says.
She is so very sweet – a cupcake of a girl – wakes up happy and, if not provoked by her big brother, is rarely a drama llama or fussy. And even with a big brother who antagonizes her almost daily, she said out of the blue the other night at dinner with a shy little smile, “I feel like saying I love Taggart right now.” And Taggart wasn’t being especially nice or kind or funny. We were just having an ordinary family dinner and she says that and I want to do the blessing all over again and thank God for her sweet smile and loving nature. Because each night, before we eat, we all hold hands and say something we are thankful for and on almost any given night I say our family. But that night, I was especially thankful for her and all the sunshine and smiles she brings to my days.Another night, I was talking to our favorite babysitter Skyler about my dad and was explaining what he was like and described him as a hippie. Sage pipes in with her hand on her hip, “I know what you’re talking about” as if I’d said something in secret code to Skyler. Sage goes on to say, “You’re saying your dad’s a hypocrite.” As if she knew the big secret. And I’m thinking, “Really??? How old are you???” The real story here though, the inside joke, is that not only was my dad a hippie but he was a hypocrite too. Smoked two packs of Camels a day but touted an all organic diet, no white bread, no white sugar... (There’s a little bit of hypocrisy in all of us if we dig deeply enough or want to be that honest – he taught me that too.)
And then just the other day, Sage and I were talking about what would happen if my car ran out of gas. (And we were having this discussion because I have run out of gas before . . . my gas gauge doesn’t work anymore on the vintage 4-Runner and I have to go by my gas mileage. However, when little hands get to pushing my trip odometer and re-set it, I can’t always tell when I’m close to running out. Not once, but twice, I found out the hard way!) As Sage and I continued our discussion I said, “Well someone would have to come help us push the car out of the way.” We talked about how Daddy or Randy and Bill (our neighbors) could come help. And then she threw in very matter-of-factly, “Or your grandma.” I’m like, “Grandma Mundy, honey? Well, she’s kind-of old and we certainly wouldn’t want her pushing my car.” And Sage replies, “Well I’ve heard you say a million times she’s the strongest person you know!” So then we had the talk about muscles and hearts and how both could be ways of saying someone was strong. Strong like you’ve lost a lot of loved ones and keep looking forward, being kind and loving, and set a wonderful example for everyone around you and strong like you’ve got big muscles and like to lift weights. Yes, two very different kinds of strong. Glad we got that all sorted out!Some of the things I love best about parenting: Learning from my kids. Getting to see things through their eyes. Being reminded of what matters. Laughing together. Hugs for no reason. Saying I love you at dinner just because.
