Today, my kids are the following ages: 19, 19, 14 and 9.
One year ago, I was frantically packing and preparing to move from Washington to California. I hope to never, ever move again. It’s so much work. The upside? Getting rid of stuff you don’t really need but have somehow collected.
Five years ago, I had a 9-year old. I wrote this about an unfortunate experience. My kids were ages 14, 14, 9 and 4.
Ten years ago, I had two 9-year olds. (Are you sensing a pattern?) I was 37 years old and six months pregnant.
Fifteen years ago, I was 32 years old. My twin boys were four years old. We lived in northern Michigan. During a summer trip to Washington state, I discovered I was pregnant.
Twenty years ago, I was 27 years old. All I wanted in the world was to be a mother. (Well, that, plus I wanted to fit into smaller pants.) I had no idea while I was dreaming that motherhood dream how difficult the journey would be, how much it would cost me and how unexpected it would all turn out. We were waiting to adopt.
Twenty-five years ago, I was preparing for my wedding. I was quite likely stitching together taffeta this very day, wondering why I thought I could sew my own wedding dress. I still tend to jump into projects while thinking, how hard could this be? I worked at a daycare at a women’s health club.
Thirty years ago, I was finishing up my junior year of high school. I worked at Taco Time and didn’t look forward to my senior years as much as I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I went to Jamaica on a missions trip that summer and ended up somehow being a rebel and causing trouble for the leaders because I disagreed with their leadership. (What?!)
Thirty-five years ago, I was twelve. My parents had divorced and remarried and my brother, sisters and I moved into our new house by the cemetery in Marysville. That was the summer Elvis died.
Forty years ago, my mother was pregnant with my youngest sister. (She would be born in October.) We lived in Whispering Firs where I rode my banana-seated bike everywhere and walked around the neighborhood greeting each dog along the way. My second grade teacher was Mrs. Dyre and I still don’t think she liked me very much.
Forty-five years ago, I was two years old. I have no memory of it. However, I was a younger sister and an older sister. My brother was 16 months older than me and my sister was 16 months younger. I was a middle child already.
Five years from now, my kids will be 24, 24, 19 and 14. And I will probably still be wishing I could fit into smaller pants.
Beyond that? Who knows.