It was a Monday night, just before sundown. I was on the last mile of a superbly hilly four mile run. My muscles were aching but my lungs were just getting their second wind and there was some wicked good things happening in my headphones. I was walking for a block to catch my breath before sprinting the big slope to my home where my two babies were slumbering peacefully and the husband was probably watching American Idol.
And there they were, three kids sitting on a porch swing. Maybe sixteen, seventeen. A girl and two boys, the girl sat in the middle. Barefoot and leaning against each other, the intimacy of their friendship manifesting itself in their posture. They just sat there talking quietly, smiling now and again. Maybe sharing some inside joke.
I'm not sure what it was about that moment but I felt myself get a little emotional and I just ached for them. And not in a bad way either. Does that even make any sense? Like when you look at your babies and you realize they're really not babies anymore and gosh, they're so funny and amazingly beautiful but you still just ache a little bit for that newborn smell and those little newborn fingers that wrap themselves around your thumb.
And I just had this powerful urge to take their hands, look them in the eye and tell them that nothing would ever be this great or amazing or hard or confusing or FUN and just to hang on and savor every moment because pretty soon they'd be mommies and daddies with mortgages and jobs and laundry and groceries. And I know that's such an old-lady thing to say but, hot damn, I had a glorious time as a teenager and I feel so blessed to be able to have had the friends that I did and the experiences that have brought me here.
I've come to know some really quality folks during my time on this earth. But the ones that were with me during my adolescent years were some of the finest. And those memories are some of my fondest. And I smile when I think of us then and I ache. But in a good way.
love and best wishes and all that jazz,