"Planes are going everywhere! There's a big accident!"
"Ahhh! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!"
"Dusty Crophopper is coming through! He's coming up this way! Dusty Crophopper!"
That is the play by play I can hear coming from my son's bedroom right now. My daughter is in there with him, and they are zooming their airplanes all over the place, and every once in awhile, crashing into one another.
Their teeth have been brushed, their stories have been read, and their little selves have been tucked in tight.
They should be in their own rooms, quietly laying in their beds and drifting off to dreamland.
Except they're not.
I should be telling my daughter to go back to her room and telling my son to put the toys away and go to sleep.
Except I'm not.
I'm laying here in my bed. I'm listening to them create their own imaginary world above the clouds. I'm taking in an impromptu playtime of them just being brother and sister and actually enjoying one another. I'm soaking up just one more night of them being 5 and 3.
These moments will be gone much too soon.
"Back-to-school" is just around the corner, and with it comes schedule and routine and consistency. While I am a lover of all things schedule and routine and consistent, I know it also means no more 'extended' bedtimes or my little pilots 'sneaking' out of bed to squeeze in a few more minutes of play with each other. Once school starts, they'll be passed out at the dinner table if I don't keep them awake with the promise of dessert. If they do stay awake beyond a scoop of ice cream and their normal bedtime routine, I'll have no choice but to march their little buns to their respective beds when I hear their airplane dialogue begin.
These moments will be gone much too soon.
"Back-to-school" will come this year, and next year, and the year after that. Elementary school will become middle school will become high school. Before I know it, the toy airplanes will be packed away. They won't need me to brush their teeth before bed or read them stories. Sneaking out of bed to talk to their brother or sister will not be something they consider "fun." All too soon, I'll be laying in bed listening not to their voices exchanging airplane dialogue, but for the sound of their car making it safely into the driveway.
So just for tonight, just for a little while longer, I'll let them be pilots.
I'll let them soar and crash and fly and zoom.
I'll let them think I don't know they're still awake, and I'll listen in on their little world.
I'll hang on to summer for one more night.
I'll hang on to them at 5 and 3 for one more night.
"Dusty Crophopper...to the rescue!"
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This is one of the sweetest posts I have seen since I found this fabulous blog a few months ago. So right-these days are gone and the babies are turning 28 before you can whistle Dixie.
ReplyDeleteOh, how 28 seems both a lifetime away, and just around the corner at the same time!! Your words are so very sweet. Thanks, Lynda.
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