Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Time, Flying

Today, big trucks descended upon the Matron's neighborhood. The city is repaving and repairing the streets. The day was defined by bulldozers, dump trucks, cement thingies, and various asphalt-dumpers (were she better versed in all things construction she could offer more technical names, but 'thingie' seems about right). In sum, there was a roar and whiz to the environs.

In the thick of the tar, asphalt, mayhem, the Matron noticed a woman -- whom she knows just by name and not well -- standing with her four year old son and carting an infant in a stroller--perched on a corner to watch the big trucks do their business. The four year old in red and blue cowboy boots, a baseball uniform and cowboy hat. Suffice it to say: adorable.

And as the Matron watched this clearly tired woman hold her little guy's hand and point out specifics ("see those big tires, honey? See that? This is where the tar comes out") while juggling the baby and fighting the beating sun, the Matron was transported three + years back, when Merrick wore only fireman (he's not gender neutral) boots and hats -- mostly naked in between.

She remembers standing on endless corners watching buses, trucks, workers, trains, airplanes and more -- first with Stryker and then with Merrick. She held their hands and discussed the nuances of 'workers' and their tools, the boys, rapt. There was no more important place on the planet than that corner, the great big world beckoning and the small hand securely tucked in hers, firm and soft at the same time.

Those days are gone.

So she smiled a little to watch this other mother holding a small boy's hand while marveling at mechanics on a corner as the big trucks rolled by. As each truck rumbled past to the child's delight, she remembered the dewy heads at bedtime and sticky faces, the thrill of what now seems ordinary.

She wanted to shout out the window: "Time rolls faster than that dump truck! Remember this!"

Instead, she remembered her own sweet moments and embarrassed her 14 year old by kissing his forehead at bedtime.

11 comments:

Sydney Shop Girl said...

What a lovely story. Really enjoyed reading this.

SSG xxx

jardinera linda said...

sweet. time sure flies by.

*m* said...

Oh, how I remember those days.

I often remind my teenaged sons (ignoring their eye rolls) that they are still my babies.

Michele R said...

I'm feeling this more and more each day.

Deb said...

I so remember this kind of thing. Packing the kids into the car to go watch a gravel operation in a nearby parking lot.

Though I miss it, you couldn't pay me to go back. I remember being TIRED!

Adult kids do things like bring dinner with them for 12 people so mom isn't too stressed because the lit review she is doing is taking all her time and attention. These are the rewards and make everything seem right.

Jil said...

This is my favorite entry so far! Thanks!

Daisy said...

Oh, the memories! My boy (now 18) still loves to make the truckers honk on road trips. Simple pleasures, indeed.

apathy lounge said...

I see women in the grocery store with inquisitive toddlers/preschoolers and I feel the same way. Feeling it now after reading this.

Susan said...

True.

kmkat said...

So true. The day the city came with a cherry picker to Do Something with the street lights in front of our house, and the workers let #1 Son, then ~3 years old, have a ride in said cherry picker, shall forever be a red letter day in his life. (His mom's, too.)

kcinnova said...

I think I will kiss my 14yo son's forehead tonight.