two decades. the last was the growing up. the next will be the growing out.

Because I’m an extensive note taker, journal writer, daily recorder of stuff, I am frequently aware of how many months something has been happening or what day such and such an event occurred or what we were all doing thirteen years ago on January 23.

(Of course, pair this with the fact that I frequently forget where my phone is and what I told the kids they could do when school is finished and that’s a more whole picture of who I am.)

At any rate and back to the point at hand.

This blog has been circulating for more than one entire decade.

And with this new year being a visually memorable one – 2020 – I’ve thought a lot in terms of decades instead of single years.

The last decade.

That was the decade of my children being little kids. Otto was born at the beginning of the decade and the bulk of my children were just enjoying being children.

The Growing Up Years.

Chore charts. (Color coded with velcro on the back. I might have been an overachiever back then.) Table manners. (Our only goal then was to make it through a meal without spilling a plate or having a kid climb across the table.) Simple addition. Early bed times. (Sweet, dear early bedtimes.) Saying goodbye to diapers forever. Learning to read. Little House on the Prairie. Five in a Row. The Story of Ping. Living at a camp. Siblings being best buddies and playmates. Birthdays celebrated with dirt cake in an actual Tonka truck or elaborately designed cakes that looked like a hobbit hole, a taco, a bowl of mashed potatoes, a mountain, a bike track.

And now it’s a different decade.

The unknown, of course.

But maybe these are The Growing Away Years.

This next decade at my house is destined to bring seismic shifts into our daily lives. It’s going to see every single one of my babies pushed right out of the nest into full fledged adulthood.

This is THAT decade. Even the “baby”, blonde and sweet as he is now, will not even be a teenager when this decade finds itself at a close.

In ten years I’ll be an empty nester. My children all launched or in various stages of launching. Grown ups. College students or college graduates. (Graduates of COLLEGE – can someone please explain this to me??) They’ll be in the working force and adventure seekers. Homebodies. Perhaps married. Maybe even with a baby of their own. My oldest daughter will be in her mid-thirties. (MID THIRTIES. JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.) Her children will be TEENAGERS.

That’s just one little decade you guys.

Remember the last one?

It went by so fast. I spent half of the last decade married. Half not. Half of the decade spent looking for solid footing and sinking and swimming and sailing by turns.

Who can even imagine what this next one will hold? Who can even bear the thought of so much change? Of so much good and so much hard? So much potential and so much unknown?

One decade ago I didn’t know I’d be a mom living life solo. I didn’t know I’d start a business. I didn’t know what a house smack full of teenagers would look like.

I had no idea of the hope and the hurt I’d face.

I can’t think too long about the past ten years behind my shoulder. I can’t think too hard about the next ten years out my front door.

I love to plan. I love to think eleventy trillion thoughts about where I want to travel and what I want to read and what I’ll wear and what I’ll eat and drink and who I’ll be doing all of those things with. That’s fun to me. A favorite past time. Berg says he likes to schedule time for staring into space. I do too. Because I’m always reimagining my life and my days and my schedule and my routine. I’m always looking forward to the next thing.

But this decade business is too much for me.

It’s too big. It’s too fast. It’s all sorts of change that my heart cannot keep up with.

It’s the beginning of so much good – I’m sure that’s true.

But it’s also the end of so much that has been my favorite.

A job that turned out to be the best one I didn’t know I’d love. Motherhood.

And I know and I know that it isn’t over. But I also know that a specific role of it will be over.

And that hurts. Even thinking about it for the future hurts.

In fact, after I type these sentences and push publish, I think I’ll do my best to put aside the big picture decade thoughts for now.

Remind myself that tomorrow has enough trouble of its own.

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