If we could turn back time...

Have you ever been asked what super power you would have if you could have one, and only one? I've thought in the past that it would be fun to be able to fly. And indeed that would be the superpower I would choose. Until last night.

Now I wish I had the uncanny ability to turn back time. For a little while. Every now and then. I'm not sure I would want to be a time traveller as I'm not sure I want to see the future, at least my future. But I'd love to go back to the past. It happens often, especially this time of year when I see little children all excited about the holidays and the catalogues filled with toys land in my mailbox. My children are growing, much too quickly. Christmas shopping is no longer as simple as buying a pretty doll or a dollhouse or some paper and crayons, or toy trucks and cars. The older the children get the more complex and expensive their gifts become. Even the little one has followed suit. This saddens me terribly. I want to bring back the toys of yesteryear... the dolls, clothes and miniature toys... I miss the days when my family room floor was transformed into magic lands filled with tracks and tunnels, lakes and valleys... I miss the tea parties and the pretend restaurants. I miss the crafts. I miss the dress up and the singing and dancing and the twirling tutus. I miss the pillows all over the floors and the forts that were created from them. I miss the marvel. I miss the sparkle. I miss the magic and wonder of it all. I miss their creativity. I miss their childlike curiosity. I miss the squeals of delight. I miss the toys all over the place. I miss elaborate little scenes and montages. I miss the cuddles and and kisses. I miss not having them on my lap. I miss them not needing me... not needing me in the way they needed me when they were little...

My teenager and my preteen are already taller than I am. They are internet and electronic junkies. Even the way they prefer to read is on an electronic device. Nothing is magical. There is no more wonder. Their issues are more complex, complicated and a simple kiss on the knee or cheek is no longer a cure-all.

Alexander is my saving grace. At 7 years of age he is almost too heavy and too tall to bounce on my knee. But he is my baby and for better or worse will always be my baby. He still crawls into bed in the middle of the night. I don't stop him. He still likes to cuddle up on me. I don't stop him. He still gives me kisses for no reason. I certainly don't stop that! He is through and through a mama's boy. I could be tougher with him. I could be firmer. It's that third kid syndrome. He does get away, slightly, with murder which often irks his older sister. But he's my last link to those wonder-filled and amazing moments or childhood. He's all I've got and I'm not letting it go. I can't. I'm not ready. I'm not a helicopter parent. I've never been one and never will be. I believe in letting the kids go when they are ready and believe in letting them make mistakes.It's how we all learn and grow. I've certainly learned from mine.

And so here we are a mother and her 7 year old son. On one hand he's still very much a kid. He loves his Legos and cars and has a great and vivid imagination. But he wants the internet-based toys and gadgets that are slowly steeling their creativity and imaginations from them, and when I say no to these electrical gadgets my own children seemingly have no idea what to do with themselves. I hate it. I really do. Alexander threw a major tantrum the other day when I said "No more!" to the computer and the iPad. No matter how grown they become, they still have to adhere to these rules.

The latest around here is that my 7 year old does't believe in Santa Claus. I cannot begin to tell you how this upsets me and how much I hate it. My older two have done everything in their powers to get him to believe. I really hope this is a show to be "cool" and that deep down inside he does indeed still believe.

Last night I took the children to see The Boston Pops who were performing in Bridgeport, CT. I thought they would all truly enjoy the Christmas music. My littlest is my most musically inclined. He's got a great little voice and great rhythm. I think exposure to all the arts and all different types of musical is instrumental (ha, pun intended!) to their growth and cultural development. The lights dimmed. The orchestra started...

Alexander immediately started whining, complaining... this is boring... I'm bored. I told him to hush it. I would have none of this rediculousness. He would watch the show. He didn't have to love it. He didn't have to like it, but he absoltuely had to stay seated and let me enjoy it. He is old enough to be at such events (there were plenty of other children there) and there are just certain things I expect my children to do, and this is one of them.  He needs, at times, to be able to sit (fairly) still and not whine about it.

I could tell by the way he was straining his neck that he was struggling to see. Perhaps that was part of the issue. Although he's a little too big, I offered him my lap which he gladly took. It seemed to be an instant fix. Within seconds he took my hands in his and until intermission, stopping only to clap in between segments to clap, together Alexander and I conducted along! As I mentioned earlier, he's got fabulous rhythm and once we started conducting he seemed to really enjoy the program!

We loved listening to our favorite holiday classics such as jingle bells, the Carol of the Bells (which is perhaps my all-time favorite) and the Boston Pops rendition of the Grinch that Stole Christmas! I loved having Alexander on my lap. A little too long, a little too tall and a little too heavy, perhaps, I once again had my baby on my lap. I had a small glimpse of the past. I saw sheer delight and wonder as he watched the entire orchestra, wondering just how many insruments and players there were. He would imitate cellists, violinists, flutists and the pianist. He could sense the music... He could feel the music. During one number, as he leaned against me, I closed my eyes and listened. I felt his sweet fine hair against my cheek. Every once in a while he would turn his head to kiss me. I could feel his body sway to the music... With my eyes closed I took it all in.. the sounds, the feels, the smells... I had a glimpse of that childhood innocence and wonder... I had a memory of being the one that he needed, the one that could make it all better.

Of course it's impossible to go back in time.
But for a couple of hours I had that last night. I had it all back. And let me tell you how I savored those minutes. It made the time sweeter. It made the moment sweeter. It made the music sweeter.
I'll never again be able to have my daughter twirling in her tutu, or singing and pretending to be Madeline, or reading to her animals and dolls. I'll never have Christopher's intricately created cities and towns created from Legos and blocks and train tracks that landscaped our floors... I'll never had Alexander standing in front of the glass door, head full of white hair, dressed in overalls, excitedly screaming Wee-woo! Wee-woo! every time a fire engire screached down our street. I'll never see those big, bright eyes on Christmas morning... but I had a moment, an amazing, incredible, wonderful moment and I savored every bit of it!

XOXO

 Jessica