We went to a party today, which took place in my friend Martha's backyard. Her yard grows all shades of green in grass, gardens, plants and trees. She and her husband are well-respected master gardeners. Our backyard is big with lush green grass, but having built our home only a few years ago, we have no mature trees, and we continue to struggle with keeping gardens productive. Charlie kept looking up at the expansive canopy above him and laughing. Oliver followed suit and, looking up, said, "treeeees ....are awesommmmmme...."
A few hours earlier, Oliver snuggled on my lap and watched The Lorax. For those that are unfamiliar with the plot, it's a story about caring for and preserving the environment. As we cuddled on the couch, I looked down and noticed Oliver's wrists and hands. I could still see traces of his babyhood in that tender skin, the tiny veins, and small wrist circumference. I stared and held that connection for as long as I could, because Oliver is doing this mind-blowing thing these days: he is growing.
Staying at home with the boys has allowed me to watch it in greater detail, but it's happening just as fast. "Let it grow, let it grow," Oliver began to sing along with the final tune of the movie. The lyrics were referring to environmental conservation, but all I could hear was "let him grow, let him grow..." which led into a sadder thought-chorus of "let him go." I now have nine tupperware bins full of clothes he has outgrown, and Charlie is not far behind. I just can't bring myself to get rid of those little onesies. Charlie's pacifiers, though they are now officially banned from use, still sit in a bowl in the cupboard. At some point, I need to let it go. Because as much as I want to preserve these early years, these boys will grow up, like Martha's trees. Big. Strong. Beautiful. And awesome.
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