The leaves are falling like rain outside my window. My baby boy, who is three months old already, sits across the room from me sound asleep in his swing. His little feet poke up over the end because, though I’ve told him to stop, he just keeps growing and changing as if he doesn’t need my permission to do so. I was hoping he would be my sweet snuggly baby forever but he insists on growing up as fast as he can.


Yesterday I made the mistake of looking through pictures from when he was born. When I realized how much he’s already changed I panicked a little and asked Darren if we could have another baby; you should have seen his face :]

When I think about my life just one year ago, I can’t believe how much it’s changed. It was just me and Darren and our life was all about work and travel and building a home. We still work and talk about travel and are still building the same stupid home but how different life is now with the this little guy along for the ride.


I’ve never been one to resist change, actually, I think I crave it. I like adventure and I like trying new things. But I’ve noticed this year that change is fast becoming one of my least favorite things. I didn’t want it to be fall because that meant summer was over. And I don’t want the leaves to go because that means we will soon be swept away into winter.


Over the last few weeks as I’ve walked around the neighborhood with Roman in his stroller, I’ve looked up at the leaves painted proudly in orange and red and gold. I’ve felt the air grow crisp around me and noticed the way the whole world smells like a big cup of hot tea with all the dry leaves. Then last week when I was walking around, I noticed I wasn’t looking up at the trees anymore but at the ground where all the fallen leaves now pool in colorful piles along the way. It made my heart ache a little to think even fall will soon be done and gone as well.


I gathered a handful of leaves for Roman’s baby book…a little memory of his first year in this brand new world when he changed me and brightened my world as much as the painted leaves have changed and brightened the world around us.


Babies are art; they are paint brushes who color and change everything they touch. I will never be the same after having him, nor do I want to be. I only want time to slow down—so I can hold my baby a little longer and not have my heart-broken by him growing up so very, very fast.



I have thought a lot about time lately, mostly because it always feels like it’s getting away from me. I’m young and if I get to live a full life, I have plenty of time left. I know that and yet I feel a little panicked every time I look at what day or month it is and wonder how we got here so quickly. Summer, for instance, is over. Um, not okay with me, not that anybody asked but seriously, what the heck? I thought summer just started and all of a sudden everyone I know is posting back-to-school pictures of their kids on Facebook. A little girl I used to babysit put a picture up today of her first day in college…so now I feel old and summer is still over. Awesome.


I keep thinking its July and then I look at my day planner and realize for the 19th time now that it’s August and that August is fast melting into September. Normally I rush through summer trying to get to fall. I love the cooler weather, the pumpkin lattes, the boots and sweaters. But this year I just can’t get there mentally. I want time to stand still for a moment so I can catch my breath and get my head around it.

Fall Hike 2008-13

Darren gave me a watch for my birthday last year; I had pointed it out to him in a catalog and then on my birthday he took me to the jewelry counter where the lady working pulled it out and gave it to me all wrapped up and ready for my birthday. I squealed; I do that when I’m happy. I’ve worn that watch a lot this year, especially in Europe when we didn’t have our cell phones to check the time and we were always keeping track of the minutes and the train schedule. I look at it in church when I’m thinking about lunch instead of the sermon and I look at it a lot at work…waiting, waiting for the minutes to tick-tock past five.

It feels strange to me to wear time on my arm like that, to watch the thin little second hand tick along beat by beat as the seconds of my life pass on and on. It feels a little bit like taking my pulse or listening to the beating and rhythm of my heart. Tick tock. Tick tock. It terrifies me, watching my life go by like that.


Right now time feels like water swirling down the drain and I’m caught and drowning in the waves. I keep wondering what this is all about; why do I feel like time is marching over me instead of tick-tocking along with me? Why am I drowning?

We are busy for sure. This morning on the way to work Darren and I kept listing off things we need to get done. I finally pulled out a notebook and starting writing things down and the list ended up being two pages long. We work all day, we run errands, we eat quickly and late, we try to get a few things done around the house, we watch a little TV and then collapse in bed before we have to get up and do it all again. We run and run but somehow I feel in our haste that I’m running out of time…or at least misusing the time I’ve been given. It nags me, this anxiousness about what I’m doing with what I’ve been given and what I should be doing better instead.


This post has no resolution really, because I have no answers. These are just my thoughts, my fears, the things I’m working through and trying to get a handle on.

This is time—marching, marching by.