The weirdest thing happened when I came to Okinawa. Most of my new friends have older children—middle school, high school, college age, and *gulp* adults. I don’t have any preschoolers for the first time in twelve years. I can feel our family teetering on the edge of a new reality.

It started when we got our pictures taken for our Christmas cards. A couple friends pointed out that soon we would have to send cards with ‘individual boxes’ because everyone won’t be around for a picture. (I sat down and cried my eyes out right then and there, and made everyone pinky-swear to come home for a picture at least once a year…in exchange for only embarrassing them 85% of the time over the next decade).

At Disneyland, I realized that this would be our last Christmas without a teenager. Ransom will turn thirteen in the summer, and we will have teens for the next fourteen years. * begin deep breathing exercises *

Over Christmas break, a couple middle school girls rang my doorbell at 9:15 at NIGHT, then asked for my SON (there are so many things wrong in this scenario I can’t count them all—don’t they know I can’t stand kids double ringing the doorbell even when I am well-rested? Don’t they know we have children trying to go to sleep at 8:30? And girls? Asking for my twelve year old BABY BOY? Ahhhhh! The list of horrors goes on). Matt was so shocked that he was nice. I was not nice, but no one let me near the door. I told my son in no uncertain terms that he had better inform his…no…tell those girls that his mother is Cray-Zeee with a capital C and they do not want to double-ring her doorbell at any time, much less approach our porch after about 7:30 unless it is on fire and they are armed with a fire hose. He just grins at me, and I don’t think I’m getting through. Ransom has just five more Christmases before he graduates high school…only five more summers. And Memphis is only a year behind him!

It’s insanity to count this way, I know, but time speeds by like a train I can’t catch. As a high school English teacher, I know how fast it happens…a gangly boy and shy girl walk into my classroom as freshmen in August, and it seems they transform into seniors who look oddly like adults by June, and then I get their wedding invitations in July.

It’s why I am fighting to SEE…to really see my children each day. So often, I look past them, focusing on that pile of socks by the trampoline, wrappers hidden in the couch cushions, and wet towels strewn across the floor. I want to take time to look in their faces—with no motive other than to see them and understand them.  I will keep hugging them and asking them ridiculous questions just to make them smile. I will keep torturing them with mandatory family fun outings despite the protests. Each day with them is such a gift, if only I will choose to see it that way. If you see me muttering around the sock pile by the trampoline this week, it’s because I am reciting my self-talk…”This is a gift. This is a gift.” May you see all the ‘gifts’ in your life this week!