Obsessions

I've been dwelling a lot  on the concept of 'transition'; that space between ending and beginning, old and new. Specifically, I've been obsessing about the moment. Is it ever possible to detect it? The exact moment something changes from being one thing to being another? As a parent, I'm plagued by this. I don't realize one phase has ended and another begun until much, much later.

But Wednesday night, as I was sitting outside The Old Town School of Folk Music , waiting for my first clawhammer banjo class, I was positive that I witnessed a major transition: the time of night when the undulating orchestral performance of the cicada ceases, and the chirping of the cricket takes over. It was...magical. And since then, I can't but help to see all the transitions around me.

Last night I was outside during the exact moment the sun set and the sky changed color. By next week, the golden watermelon and honeydew that have of late weighed down my farm box  will be replaced by kuri squash and pumpkin. On Tuesday, my preschooler becomes a kindergartner, and my toddler becomes a preschooler.

I think it's important to spend some time noticing the transitions in our lives. Maybe it's even ok to obsess a little about them, the way I have been known to. We need to slow down. We have to take a look. And then, of course, we also need to let go, let ourselves be carried away at times as well. Sometimes I don't notice the little changes in my children because I'm in the trenches. Let's be honest, from day to day they can seem like completely different, unrecognizable people, only to return to the old kid we knew so well. It's hard to tell when true change happens.

And that's why I've started this blog:  to document their lives, our life together - both in minute study and in sweeping generalization. Between you and me, the day that Bela transitions to pronouncing 'basket' instead of  'baskick' will be a sad, sad day for me and mine. My biggest little girl is growing up.