is it okay to admit this?

You know how one thing can make you think of another thing?

Well.

My friend Gretchen wrote on her blog about offering her boys a frozen beverage the other day.

And that one thing reminded me of another thing.

Remember my first race?

Yeah.

After that race it was just Kevin and I at the car.

And  I wanted to celebrate finishing my first race with something – like a food I was dying to eat or something.

Except I wasn’t hungry.

(I had thought I was going to stop breathing.  Food was not on my mind.)

But something did sound good.

Something cold.

Frozen, even.

In fact, something that is my ultimate favorite frozen beverage.

A Slurpee.

Which would have been cool.

Literally.

Man, I wanted a Slurpee.

But basically that was impossible for me right then.

Because I have yet to see a 7-11 in South Carolina.

Or North Carolina.  (We live close enough to the border.  It would have been worth it.)

And I knew we couldn’t drive like eight hours for a slurpee or something.

Kids were waiting at home.  Nate and Lanier were babysitting.

It would take a bigger prearranged plan than that to skip town to get a frozen beverage.

Even the best frozen beverage created by mankind.

But I couldn’t help remembering days in our past.

Days when an idea as ludicrous as driving ten hours for a slurpee would have been less ludicrous.

Or maybe equally ludicrous

but more

plausible.

Possible.

When there were not six kids awaiting our arrival at our home.

When children’s schedules did not have to be considered.

When, if it was the weekend and no one was expecting anything of you  until Monday morning crawled around, you could essentially disappear for two days every five days and no one suspected anything.  No one asked any questions.

You weren’t even considered missing.

No one was missing you.

I think that sounds a little like freedom.

Spontaneous.

And those days are gone.

Yesterday.

Over.

Hasta la vista.

Spontaneous looks a lot different to us now then it did then.

It involves more diapers and a sippee cup and an extra change of clothes for the two and under crowd – just in case, you know?

I love my children.

Come on – you know I do.

But is it wrong then,

is it politically incorrect,

to admit that I miss those days?

That I remember those days before

with fondness,

even

longing,

on occasion?

Can I admit that here?

Is this a safe place?

Am I the only one who has ever desired to just

drive off into the sunset?

To just drive and have no one ask you where you are going?

(Shoot, I just want to walk to the bathroom and have no one follow me to do my business.)

Is it wrong

to remember that time

and to think it was a pretty good place to be?

It goes without saying

(which it mustn’t actually since here I am saying it)

that I really wouldn’t trade yesterday for today.

I really wouldn’t exchange the life I am living for the life I already lived.

I wouldn’t actually do that.

Not that I could.

But I wouldn’t.

Even if I could.

I do pretty much like now.

And I love those six people who make my life so

cumbersome

so less than spontaneous

so planned

so here and now

and not free-wheeling

come as you please

drive all night to satisfy a slurpee craving.

I like these kids.

But I miss that time too.

I don’t get both.

All of now is fleeting too.

And

one day

I will remember these days.

These

baby-wearing

slicing watermelon with a sword

Pisgah hiking

you’re the best mom in the world

days.

And I’ll miss them too.

Managing memory.

Thriving in the present.

Holding on to now with both hands.

Smiling at the past.

Appreciating its story.

Blending the both.

That’s

all

so

every

day

too.

Isn’t it?