The morning began with construction sounds, common in our neighborhood of new homes, but this time the machine was in our front yard digging out a weed-infested sidewalk strip. The girls as always were mesmerized, wanting to sit and stare while it moved the dirt, dumping ripped sod onto the sidewalk.
I realized that children – at least our two oldest (most verbal) children – are uncomfortable with change. They want to know what is happening when. Who will do what. Already they’ve quizzed Ted as to the menu and cooking plans when I will be away this weekend. They’ve decided they are never leaving home or going to college and want to live with us forever. Ripping out the sidewalk strip is as large a change to them as ripping out a chunk of the world.
Yet isn’t it ironic that children are changing? All the time. I noticed Abigail’s pants are suddenly small for her, leaving lots of long leg exposed. And Michaela’s too are too tight. Elisabeth one day starts doing somersaults or walking backwards. She goes and gets me the dustpan when I sweep. They do new things every day. Even more than their parents, they are changing and growing, tomorrow always different – better – from today. The children keep our family fresh and in constant flux. Ted and I can’t stay the same. They change us.
Standing behind my kids gathered together on the sofa, watching the man operate the machine, the methodical digging and dumping, I saw how we are all always under construction.
2 responses so far ↓
1 Kris Hasson-Jones // Apr 14, 2004 at 10:26 am
How can you measure your own change if the background is changing, too?
2 Anita Rowland // Apr 15, 2004 at 8:42 am
I remember being very perturbed as a young child when my mother was having her hair cut by a neighbor. I think I feared that she’d be a very different person afterwards!