Bittersweet

     Target has six aisles of Halloween costumes and decor out already. I don't need a thing from that section of the store, but I found myself wandering through it anyhow. It drew me in with lights and glitter and battery operated doormats that scream when you step on them. I wasn't the only one. Walking down the costume aisle was a girl of about nine years old. She had her hands clasped together and tucked under under her chin, dreamily gazing at the tulle and polyester princess gowns. My kids remind me all the time that I am not supposed to talk to other people's children. "Mom, you're a stranger. Kids are not supposed to talk to strangers." I do it anyway. It's too hard for me not to. "Do you know what you want to be for Halloween?", I said. She looked up and smiled. "Oh, yes. I'm going to be the mean queen from Snow White and the Huntsman. I have my dress already. It's black and has gold sparkles all over. It's so pretty! Now I'm just looking for a crown."
"That sounds great", I told her. "Sometimes the evil queen is not very pretty. But that one is. You'll be perfect!" She gave me a big smile and then said, "Do you have children?" "What will they be for Halloween?". "Well, they are mostly too big for trick or treating. They are not little anymore." She looked sad for me, which made me sad for myself. I hate saying those words. I feel as if there is a stone in my stomach whenever I say them.  There is such finality in them. It's over. You will never see them like that again. They are not little anymore.
     When they were little I didn't think they would ever be grown. Some days seemed so long. I was always tired, always pregnant or nursing, always pulling someone off the counter top or table, always finding a sippy cup under the sofa with coagulated stinky milk, always trying to get home before the toddler fell asleep in the car seat and got just enough rest to keep him from taking the 2 hour nap I needed him to take, always in the kitchen, in carpool, in the doctor's office, in the grocery store, or the laundry room.  I fell into bed most nights only to have to get up for someone during the night. In public places people often asked, "Are they all yours?" Yes, they were all mine. And then, "Enjoy them. They grow up too fast." Older women told me that all the time. I didn't believe them. It felt to me it was going to take forever for them to be independent. But at some point time picked up speed. We got busier or distracted. Change crept up on us like a cat in the grass. Sometimes I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I haven't been asleep, but it feels as if I just tucked them in bed smelling of baby lotion and warm skin and they came down the stairs in the morning men and women. To be honest the younger two are not men yet. But they are not little. I am trying hard to not to treat the youngest as if he is a baby. All his siblings say I do. But it is slipping like oil through my hands. He is the last one and now I am painfully aware that it happens when we are least expecting it. That cat in the grass. This time last year his older brother was just a boy. In a few months time he got braces, facial hair and grew 4 inches. He is taller than me. His voice is changing. It is deeper with intermittent squeaks of the surrendering child breaking through in mid conversation. In a few months he gets his driving permit.
The baby does not have long before the same metamorphosis occurs. None of us can stop it. The stone in my stomach feels heavier.
     I wonder to myself why it is so hard. Do I feel I did a poor job? Do I wish I could have a do-over?
Yes. Sometimes. But only if I could get one with the knowledge I have now. I am happy with the people my children have grown to be. They are funny, smart, compassionate and tough. I like them. I enjoy my three adult daughter's company. We have a blast doing things together. The boys are sweet to me most of the time and make me laugh with the things they talk about. They have become comfortable  talking about all matters of things. I like the conversations, their ideas and thoughts about the world. I feel the kids are close and will take care of one another as the years pass. That's my greatest comfort, if something should happen to me, by which I mean death of course. There's a lot to be happy about.
Still. I'd like to have another day just to hold them, give them a bath. Snuggle up and read a favorite story. The ones that have been in the attic for years now. I'd gladly play Barbies or Legos or Candy Land. I have more time for that now, ya know? I'd look them in the eye and tell them what wonderful people they are going to grow up to be.  We could watch Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin and go trick or treating. And they would give me all the candy with nuts, because that was before they discovered nuts were good, and especially delicious covered in caramel and chocolate.