Small Moments

On of my favorite units to teach in Writer's Workshop is Personal Narratives.  The definition that I teach my kinders is that a personal narrative is a "small moment that you stretch out".  It's not just telling me you went to the zoo with your aunt, it's telling me about feeding the giraffes and how silly their tongues felt.  It's about focusing on that one Christmas gift and how you felt opening it.  It's how the smell of your mom's chocolate chip cookies make Snow Day's awesome.  I also tell them that it's something that seems so insignificant, yet so important that you want to remember it.  I was struck by that feeling the other night as I watch my Big do something so insignificant that I had to share to avoid losing the memory forever.

The Boy was sick for over a week and his demanding, feverish ways kept him permanently attached to my body for the duration of the fever.  I couldn't even escape him in sleep.  He would pull my face close to his, one hand on my hair, the other on his blanket before laying down to sleep.  If I tried to pull away to take care of the girls, the cats, or even myself he would put a death grip on my hair and whimper "No Mama!" before pulling me close to him.  His hot, sticky breath on my face, hands tangled in my hair, and body securing me to my spot meant that I was stuck.  A lot.

I was thankful that the girls were older and capable of being independent during this week.  They didn't suffer from having to do a bit more for themselves, each other, and for me.  They did it happily, loving to help out.  It was one of those nights that the Middle asked for some ice cream.  She knew her Papa had snuck in some mini ice creams against mommy's wishes and the chocolates were calling to her.  I said yes, but asked if they could wait a few minutes for their brother to untangle himself from me so I could grab them.  Stay where you're at, I was told by the Big.  I can get them.

Seriously?  When did she get so tall that she could not only reach the freezer, but pull things out without causing an avalanche?  I hesitated before saying okay, then turned my body, baby growth attached, to watch her expertly grab two chocolate ice creams, spoons and paper towels before heading to the breakfast table.  She swiftly pulled the lids and plastic wraps off of both containers before putting them in the microwave for 10 seconds (my girls hate ice cream that's too hard) and placing them on the table again for her and her sister to enjoy.  I was struck in that moment at how big 9 years old can really be and it hit me like a ton of bricks that this young lady is MINE. 

She is just one year away from middle school.  She is going to the "senior prom" at school with her Papa in five days.  She takes showers alone, empties the dishwasher, and carries the Boy around like an expert.  All these small, seemingly insignificant things that "big kids" do and yet, I've continued to look at her as my baby girl.  I got so caught up in the Boy turning two, I forgot that my Big would be double digits in a few months.  Where the heck has the time gone!?!?!  Wasn't she just two a few months ago?  Pigtailed, milk in hand, watching The Wiggles? 

I've made a promise to myself over the past week.  I'm going to really slow down and take in the small moments, to write some personal narratives in real life.  Because when it's all said and done, that's really what it's all about.  It's all those small moments that you don't get a rain check on if you don't enjoy them the first time around.