Time rushes by, and then the kids are gone
Are We There Yet?
Lori Clinch

When our four boys were little tots, it was quite a task to take them out and about. It seemed as though our mere presence created a disturbing scene. Our outings were an adventure and, more often than not, a series of unfortunate events.

Our little boys spent the better part of their public experiences drawing unwanted attention. If they weren't into this, they were knocking down that and picking up speed as they headed for the breakables.

People would stare, some would scowl, and others would shake their heads in disgust. Sometimes as humiliation overcame me, a kind soul would appear out of nowhere. He or she would place a hand on my shoulder and say ever so gently, "Enjoy them while they're still little."

I was never in a mood to hear that. "Enjoy them while they're little," I would mumble to myself as I placed the little dears in their car seats. I'd repeat it again as I prepared a sippy cup for one, handed a toy to another and pulled the older two apart while I buckled them in their respective corners.

"Enjoy them while they're little," I said in a tone that was reminiscent of a teenager mocking her parents. Then I muttered under my breath, "Next time someone says that to me, I'm gonna kick them in the shins and tell them to enjoy that while it still hurts."

Restaurants were a nightmare. As my food grew cold, I spent my time pulling children down off chairs, out from under the table, and tried to control my brood with a hushed voice and a forced grin. I spent the better part of every meal wondering why I had come. Inevitably a hand would fall on my shoulder as a kind soul whispered in my ear, "Believe it or not, these are the best years of your life."

Who says that kind of thing to a woman who hasn't slept since the baby was born?

"The best years of our life?" I would sob to my husband as we climbed into the minivan. "Do you mean that it doesn't get any better than potty training, vaporizer tents and a teething baby? Shoot me now!"

Days sped by. There were always meals to make, clothes to wash and toddlers to chase.

Time moved fast and I never really cared to slow it down. I couldn't wait until they could brush their own teeth, make their own beds and bandage their own wounds. And, doggone it, I prayed for a child who could make his own school projects and have the decency to erupt his science volcano outdoors.

Then one day, I noticed our life was changing. Our boys were growing up. I didn't have to worry about the scene they made in public because they didn't want to go with me anymore. They chose PlayStation over the park, fast food over restaurants, and they weren't having me do their homework because I couldn't understand it anyway.

Now one of the boys has turned 18. He's ready to walk boldly and to take on the world. As he prepares to graduate from high school, I look at him and wonder if I enjoyed him enough while he was little. Although he smudged up the walls and colored on the couch, did I have enough patience and insight to see the happiness that he brought?

As I pull out the snapshots and photos and look at the chaos that was the bane of our existence, it really does seem as though they were the best years of our lives. We didn't sleep much, but we laughed. We didn't have time for a clean house or great hair, but we made the time to play and laugh.

Somehow 18 years have passed since I looked into my first newborn baby's eyes. The time flew by so fast, and although I can still see the little boy in him, the rest of the world sees him as a man.

Yesterday I went to the grocery store and saw a woman struggling with her little dears. My cart simply held groceries, and hers was full of four active boys. The oldest one was pulling his brother's hair, while still another grabbed at everything he passed. I saw the look that others gave her - the disgust and dismay. Mostly, I saw the look of hopelessness on the young mother's face.

I couldn't help but smile as I walked up to her. Before I knew it, I was patting her on the back and whispering in her ear, "Enjoy them while they're little - these are the best years of your life."

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.