2010 wasn't the best year ever; it was difficult, but it wasn't terrible. We all stayed healthy, and employed, and were surrounded by love and family and good friends. We didn't lose anyone we love, and even if times were, for a little while this past fall, dark and uncertain and painful, we made it through to another year, stronger and wiser.
On New Year's Day we did a Skype call with my family and, since my mom's computer is in the bedroom where L. always sleeps when we visit, we had a perfect view of that square of bed across which, only days ago it seems, L. had his Star Wars visual dictionaries scattered. I can't believe it's a new year, and the holidays are behind us, and we're moving into the second half of the school year--L.'s LAST year of elementary school, and...I'm back at work today. T.'s back at school, and L. goes tomorrow, and on Wednesday I'll be up in front of a classroom again, laying out a new syllabus for my students, and hoping for a good semester.
I usually feel a little melancholy with the passing of each year. When I was younger I would get in a real funk thinking about how there would never ever be another 1978, or 1985, or 1996, or 2000 and on and on--it seemed mind-boggling to me that a year could never ever happen again. L. inherited a bit of that from me, I'm afraid. I'll never forget New Year's eve when he was three, and I mentioned to him., a little sadly, that there would never ever be a 2003 again. His face twisted up in tears.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm sad. I'm sad that 2003 is gone forever." And he went to bed feeling sad and weighed-down and I felt terrible for opening that door, and giving him a glimpse of that sweet-and-salty flip side to the changing of the year.
I backpedalled quickly and from then on I try and keep my New Year melancholia to myself. Inside I acknowledge that it's there, and I quietly say my goodbyes to the year; I wonder what the new year will bring and I try not to dwell on the fact that there will never ever be a 2010 again.
A few days ago I was playing with T. in her room and a pang of sadness hit me. Before your kids even start school the days with them seem so infinite--sometimes even burdensome, when you crave a little space to be by yourself, and there are only so many times you can play Maya and Dazzle the Dinosaur or Ruthie and Kit with them before you lose your mind. But now I feel I'm snatching time with them--a little here, a little there. They are growing so quickly and I want to grab hold of every moment and not waste it in everyday humdrum busyness. I'm still working on my own personal list of resolutions but I know this year I vow to take less work home with me and spend the time I do have with the kids in quality ways. I will put them first when we're at home, and not rush dinner and bedtime, thinking about the work still ahead. It will get done in the end, as it always does. But my children's childhood days, like each passing year, will some day belong only to the past.