That is my job. Make the omelets. They say I’m the best at it.
I think its just their way of making me feel needed and important.
After all, its just beaten eggs, cheese, and heat.
But that is my assignment…make the omelets.
Because this is kind of a big day. First day of school. The launch of our “best year yet”.
The promise of new adventures, and friends, and drama, and heartbreak, and laughs, and tears, and ups, and downs, and everything in between.
It is also the official start of the “next year” watch.
Next year, I’ll be in junior high.
Next year, I’ll be in high school.
Next year, I’ll be a senior.
I can hold off on all the “next year” talk. For now. Forever.
The youngest is the first one down the stairs, even though she knows she will be the last to leave. She is ready. She is smiling. She is beautiful.
She is oblivious to how hard life can be sometimes.
I hope to keep her that way as long as possible.
The middle one comes down next. Ever notice how sometimes the middle one can kinda just blend in and pass through? Not this morning. This morning the goofy, soft-hearted, tomboy came down the stairs a stunningly beautiful young woman.
Now, don’t get me wrong, she’s always been beautiful. But all of the sudden she’s the kind of beautiful that makes dads worry, hate every boy whose name gets mentioned, and contemplate how they would fair in prison should the need present itself.
Last, but not least, the oldest appears. She walks in confidence and beauty. She laughs with her sisters. They bicker over clothes. She is ready for this day because she is beginning to gain focus on the days ahead. She is ok. She is amazing.
This is a big day for Thing #1. She’s driving herself to school. And that mere fact actually kept her from bickering about taking Thing #2 to school.
And there was no linger. As soon as they were down the stairs they were out the door. Driving off. Forgetting to give dad a kiss.
“I only have one more of these days left”, she says. Wow…
Breakfast just got real. These moments are finite. And precious.
My first thought is how I wish I could slow all this down. To find a way to continue to be needed to make the omelets. To keep them young. Safe. Home.
Because very soon…
I’ll just need to make two omelets.
Then their mom and I will start enjoying all that time we have together to reconnect that we talk about know. Just the two of us. Hopefully living somewhere consistently warm, where we’ll take our early morning walks down to the local coffee shop. And every day we’ll order the same thing. Read the paper…
and count the days until our babies bring their babies to visit us.
And I’ll make omelets…or Grandma will make chocolate chip pancakes.
But as fast as we seem to be hurtling towards that day, today is not that day.
Today I made omelets.