Where Does the Time Go?

Nothing is quite as satisfying as browsing through a box of old photos. Memories tucked quietly away into the recesses of gray matter like vaults sealed shut, are suddenly cracked open revealing hidden treasures. For me, a person who jokes about her teflon of the brain (memory in, memory out-no sticking), these photos are my keys to accessing days gone by. Simpler times, really. Bedtimes of 7:00 p.m. Play dates that happened, at most, once or twice a week. Evenings without homework or piano or guitar lessons (hence, no piano/guitar practicing). Just me and the boys hanging out together. With an occasional soccer game thrown in. William wanted to play soccer starting at age 3. Yup, 3. He played in an indoor Boys and Girls club league. He loved it, so we signed him up for a local city league, where he met his dear friend, Jackson. (And I met my dear friend, Jill.) Still loving it he played indoor in the winter and outdoor in the spring and fall, with Bill volunteering to coach every team he could. With Bill obligated to go to each game and practice I sometimes mumbled about it being "too much".

A couple of weeks ago, William came to Bill and asked if it was too late to try to make a competitive soccer team. Bill said he would look into it, thinking there was no way William, our non-competitive, happy in his recreation league team long after most of his friends had made the move to comp, son could be serious. The next day William followed up. He did the next day as well and we finally took him seriously, thinking it was indeed too late and we would be off the hook. Well turns out, it wasn't so much. There was room on a good friends' team. He still needed to show the coach his skills before being allowed to play, but William stuck to it and proved himself and won a great deal of self-esteem in the process and after a week and a half, he made the team.

Oh, little did I know about "too much". "Too much" means driving 7 (that is not a type-o for the record) hours , to let William play a few minutes of a 1 hour game. "Too much" means paying a over a grand a season for uniforms, tournaments, and league fees. "Too much" means spending 5 days a week getting one or another child to some kind of soccer event (game or practice). "Too much" means getting home so late, you are pressed to hit a 9:00 p.m. bed time. "Too much" means having to miss William's first competitive soccer game so Bill can make it to Romney's game as their coach. I now understand the true meaning of "too much". I wonder if in 10 years I will look back at the photos of this period in our family-life with the same nostalgia as I do when looking back at the sweetness of early childhood now? My guess is I will miss the "too-much"-ness of our life, and I will remember secretly enjoying the chaos of our schedules.