It is not the age(ing) thing

Well, I am supposed to be working on a "Parents' Perspective" essay for the 2E Newsletter, and here I am, posting to my blog instead. The reason for this is fairly simple, once you accept the rather convoluted way in which my mind works.

Seattle is our family's adopted home -- even though we have not lived there for nearly nine years. Both of my boys were born in Seattle. I was exposed to jazz in Seattle, not to mention microbrews and the fact that there is more to Pearl Jam than "Jeremy."

Seriously, I had to love a city that seemed to have four coffeehouses and three teriyaki joints at every intersection, a city that hummed with intellectual energy, a city with clean air and crazy light, a city where the "fringe" element was so omnipresent that it very nearly became the mainstream.

So it should not surprise anyone who knows me to learn that, this past month, I have been hopelessly distracted by Pearl Jam's all-too-short East Coast tour. For the past week, I have been able to think of nothing but Eddie and the rest of the guys, playing their hearts out for "complete maniacs" like myself. During "Dissident" (a song which just absolutely sounds like Seattle) last Friday, I turned to my husband and screamed "We have got to move back home!"

Ahh, memories....

But what does any of this rambling have to do with this blog??

It is pretty simple, really. I found myself recalling those mornings when I would put my son, "Origami," who then was just a toddler, in the car for our weekly field trip to one of Seattle's many kid-friendly attractions. Our first stop was a nearby espresso stand, where, as part of our weekly special treat (hey, we were on a graduate student's budget!), I would try to clear away the low-hanging clouds with some strong caffeine, and Origami would get a madeline cookie to decimate as we drove around town.

Many weeks, we would arrive early at the Seattle Center. Origami would spend half an hour or so scooting around in the Little Tikes cars inside the Center, smiling happily. A few early-bird senior citizens would be dancing to big band sounds, but in general the Center House was quiet. As 10:00 neared, we would head over to the Pacific Science Center, or downstairs to the Children's Museum.

Big deal, you are saying, right? Show me a mother who does not look back fondly on the time when her child was sweet and innocent. Show me someone who does not miss their lost youth, you say.

But, for me, there is more to it than that. Yes, I admit that as my hair re-grows, each lost hair seems to be coming in gray. I am not happy about it, but I try to accept it.

What I really miss is that time before we really suspected that something was "wrong" with Origami. O's infancy was, simply put, a brutal time in our lives -- but it passed. Once Origami learned to walk, he was able to take on the world around him, and he did so with great energy and enthusiasm. We had nearly two years during which most days were full of -- exhausting -- fun as we helped our little bundle of energy suck in as much information as he possibly could acquire. We still were tired, but we were tired in a good way.

So, I guess what I am saying is, I miss the simplicity of that time, even though packing for a day around town involved multiple changes of clothes for both of us, towels, an endless supply of toddler snacks, and a sore back (for me). I miss being able to simply enjoy an activity, without always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I miss the time when I did not need to be always on the alert for an impending explosion or implosion; I miss not having to worry about what other people thought of my child and of me as a parent.