“The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
~ Chicken Little
The long day had about come to an end and I was finally taking a moment to rest.
- At 8:30 p.m. I had safely tucked my 2-year-old into his crib.
- By 9:15 p.m. my 6 and 8-year-old had hit their beds hard after a long day of neighborhood play.
- And finally, as the clock struck 9:30 p.m., I allowed myself to unwind in the comfort of our La-Z-Boy recliner, my feet propped up and a small pillow supporting my neck, the perfect spot to relax and take in:
The lovely stillness of a house that is rarely still.
Thoughts of the pending school year and all the likely changes it will bring with it began to fill my head – yet just as quickly as these thoughts arrived they were suddenly, rudely interrupted by the strange yet somewhat familiar sound of:
Squeak … BAM. Squeak … BAM.
Squeak, squeak … BAM, BAM.
The sound echoed like thunder on the second floor of our home, and I sat there in decision-making-mode as I knowingly glanced towards my husband’s conflicted expression. We listened together to the familiar sound of our two-year-old using his crib as a mini trampoline.
The loud noises inadvertently became sure and scary reminders that the change of the upcoming school year wasn’t the only change on our horizon.
Squeak … BAM. Squeak, squeak … BAM.
Change is unavoidable, however I really didn’t want to believe or admit that our youngest (our baby) was
most likely ready to move on – out of the jail-like confines of his crib.
The same crib that was broken in by our daughter over 9 years ago after her return from the hospital. The same crib which has seen 4 different nursery rooms – all stuffed with love, laughter, crying, panic, exhaustion, poopie dippers, late nights, early mornings and many unsuccessful attempts to fill with the coveted pastime of sleep.
The remark bravely left my lips as I looked at my husband. (A million other unasked questions wrapped up in those two simple words.)
In the on-again/off-again silence that was our evening, we both surely knew that
once we moved forward, there was no going back.
I slowly stepped out of the comforts of my chair and walked to the stairs – listening to the sounds coming from the nursery above. Glancing up at the dinning room chandelier I imagined (?) the fixture softly vibrating as dust fell from it – loosened and freed by the increasingly louder and stronger bounces from our little olympic gymnast above.
I didn’t want to believe that the “sky could be falling” and our little boy was growing up.
Three times. Three kids. Three ongoing, never-ending, harder and harder transitions.
Squeak… CRACK. BAM!
It was time.
(God help me. Because now this means the next hurdle is potty training.)
Leave a Comment: Do you have a hard time saying goodbye to different stages?
This week I am linking up with Bianca at Bits of Bee for her Quotable Bits Link-up.