We were at the sukkah celebration earlier tonight. With three kids of varying ages, I’ve been going to the religious school sukkah celebration for fifteen years now. But AP Stats homework got in the way for one kid, and another one fell asleep before I left, so it was just me and my youngest tonight.
Everything with my youngest these days is tinged with wistfulness, it seems. She’s my last one. And she’s not a baby anymore, at eight, she’s more than capable of getting her own drink and serving herself. She even built her own sukkah herself, with graham crackers and frosting.
On the way home, she
(Edited to add that I had started to write this back in September, and something happened and I got distracted, and now whatever I was going to write is lost forever. I was just doing this introspective little dance with myself, wondering if blogging was something that I still wanted to do – in light of the fact that all of the kids are getting older and I’ve been doing it for more than ten years now, I think. Then I found this barely started entry, and am now wistful and sad because I don’t know what I was going to write, or what I was going to say. It probably had something to do with having alone time with my baby, who’s not a baby anymore. Or maybe it had to do with a discovery about Julie’s inner life, the stuff that goes on in her head when we’re not paying attention. But it’s lost now, and it’s because I failed to blog it. So that answers the internal debate of whether or not blogging is still something I should be doing. Sometimes you find the answers you were looking for in the strangest of ways.)