I'm on the phone with my mother tonight, she's hoping to wangle an invite down for the long weekend. A getaway, she said. You know, one day I'd like to be a guest at my house too: French toast with bananas and cinnamon and real maple syrup, hot coffee, fluffy towels. If you don't mind sleeping on the sofa, of course, or stepping off said sofa onto the wrong end of a piece of Lego. Invitation extended and accepted, our conversation turned to the momentous event almost upon us: just six more days until Kindergarten. "Where did the time go? I can't believe Stella's going to school," said my mother sounding genuinely incredulous. I laugh. Oh how quickly grandparents forget how long the days can be. But the years short, as the saying goes. And here I was all summer long thinking it was no big deal, this first day of Kindergarten. I mean she's been at nursery school since she was nine months old. She's so thoroughly indoctrinated in institution-speak that instead of asking for her colouring books she asks if she can do "creative". So I wasn't expecting to feel whatever that feeling is that keeps bringing tears to my eyes when I think about letting go of that sturdy little hand at the school gate next Thursday. My baby. I think I'll enjoy the moment, tears and all, when it arrives. And 2.75 hours later there is lunch at Chuckie Cheese (how could I say no?), a sure antidote to wistfulness.
My *goal* to live a slow(er) life is not really a goal in the sense of working towards something. It's more of an effort to live more consciously, to be mindful and to find the beauty in daily life. Not always easy. But I do enjoy the journey and finding company along the way. I recently stumbled on this wonderful article called The Unhurried Child by Catherine Newman in a magazine I've never seen before called Wonder Time . She references this book In Praise of Slow, which, ironically, I can't wait to read.
