My nerves are a little shot today.
I know this because my other half took the kids to Menchie’s today as a reward for getting the house ready to show in under 15 minutes (a record!) for the surprise PHBs (Possible Home Buyers) who came in the middle of what I thought was the snow day that would keep everyone quarantined inside of their homes and offered to bring something back for me because I was knee-deep in photo editing and also unable to go out in public because of a leggings-as-pants situation and I asked them to bring me tart because I’m elderly and the only acceptable flavor for me is tart and they didn’t have any tart so they brought me home chocolate and vanilla swirl and then I cried.
Being a house seller with a new job, man. The thing is, though, my stress levels are lower than you’d expect, considering I’m a house seller with a new job. I’m feeling really good about both. Really good. Just, if you see me and you want to ask about one of these things, ask about the job because asking a seller how the house sale is going is like asking a super pregnant woman if she’s had the baby yet. When I sell, I promise you’ll know. I’ll be shouting it from the rooftops. Or, you know, my social media channels.
Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure my television is to blame for these unnerving nerves of mine. (With a side order of PMS, it’s possible.) Specifically, that time this week that I watched Boyhood and that time this week that I watched the series finale of Parenthood. Don’t worry, I’m not a full-on pop culture masochist; I did watch Shoshanna Shapiro interview for a job at Ann Taylor LOFT on Girls in between.
There’s a scene in Boyhood where Patricia Arquette announces “I just thought there would be MORE,” and as a non-spoiler I won’t go into more detail about this particular tear-worthy moment other than to tell you that it was while watching this scene that I decided that this woman, the actress, and this woman, the part she was playing, was incredible and an Oscar contender.
And then I had to say goodbye to The Bravermans through Claire Danes ugly cry tears.
And basically I don’t want my babies to grow up and move away.
Emily put on a dress this week that was clearly inches shorter than it was when we purchased it just a few short months ago. She gave a pile of clothing to her sister that are all too short. We stood back to back and she’s centimeters away from my height. I took her for basketball shoes this week and her feet are bigger than mine.
Josh has started learning his Torah portion for his Bar Mitzvah. BAR MITZVAH.
And Isabella learned to play Settlers of Catan last week. She was always too young to play, too young to sit still to learn the rules, too young to be interested. But she learned quickly and excitedly.
And now my babies are just too old.
Remember when I worried about things like when to offer strained peas and weaning off of the pacifier and what character underpants would get my kids excited about potty training and how to take my kids swimming without those swim diapers exploded and all of those little pellets(?) inside falling all over the pool deck? Remember when I worried about transitioning to a big boy bed and losing naps and if I needed to take a mommy and baby music class?
Those seemed like such big deals at the time. All-consuming.
Now my daughter buys her own underpants at the mall with her friends. And she’s thisclose to becoming a swim teacher, hoping she doesn’t get covered in someone else’s swim diaper insides.
The moments I have with these three small people are moving too fast.
I thought there’d be more.
I think I’ll call my mom.
And go to Yogurtys. They probably have tart.