Stop The Clock, Please.

The last few days have been a whirlwind in my neck of the woods. Can I have another vacation, pretty please?

I survived the long return trip with the aunts gone wild, and arrived home late Friday night just in time to see my husband head out the door for work.

In addition to needing a vacation from the vacation, this was Tyler’s first water polo tournament weekend.

No sooner had I set my bags down Friday night, than #1 son arrived home from a varsity swim meet, on the verge of tears from being hungry, tired, and exhausted.

We both rolled crawled out of bed early yesterday, barely allowing enough time to make the one hour trek for the tournament that was both Saturday and Sunday.

As Tyler sat and waited for this match to begin, blue Speedo and funky water polo cap in place, I was struck at how much he still reminded me of my tiny five year old swimmer, years ago, terrified to jump in the pool the first time. He is new to water polo, and although he’s been practicing now for about 6 weeks, I could see a little crack in his normally confident exterior.

How has time done that to him, to me, to us? Tyler is what I often refer to as the compass of our family. At barely 16 years old, his few ‘teenage’ moments have long come and gone. He is not a perfect kid, but he is has certainly set the bar pretty high for my younger two.

As we waited for the game buzzer yesterday, I kept wondering, how did he go from this:

to this:

Where did the time go? Did I blink my eyes for a second too long? Where are the moments I’ve forgotten? Time is such a friend and a foe.

I waited and waited for him to get bigger. For the first day of school, class plays, middle school and driving lessons.

Now, there are days I wish I had a brake I could stomp my foot on and just stop the clock every now and then. Not for him; he is ready for time to move on, for the life ahead. My desire to stop the clock is purely selfish, of course, as any mom would probably admit.

After the water polo game ended, we came home and at the very, very last minute, he decided he wanted to go to the Homecoming dance. This is the first year he hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in October and he hadn’t planned on attending.

While other kids ran around getting prepared for dinners and limos, Tyler calmly made a few calls, found a poor soul whose date stood him up, and paid the kid’s mom $10 bucks for his ticket to the dance.

He frantically ran around the house, looking for his oh-so-expensive suit pants (which we never found) and at the last minute, yanked my husband’s suit out of his closet (yes honey, you read that right.) To put it politely, their body shapes are not the same. Tyler is tall and lean. My husband is…not.

Somehow Tyler, who has always, always had an amazing sense of style, made it work.

How he fit his string bean body into my husband’s much larger pants, and didn’t look like he was wearing a Scottish Kilt or bad drapery is beyond me. But it worked pretty well. He looked amazing.

At the last minute, I suddenly asked who he was going with? DUH!

He just looked at me like it was no big deal, and said, “I’m going alone. Who needs a date?”

Ahhhh, the tiny crack in confidence I’d see in the morning at the pool had already been repaired.

Last minute stag appearances for Homecoming dances are not for the faint of heart. Who does that? I can just hear it now, once my family reads this.

My husband is going to wonder where that suit is right about now.

My dad will be proud and insist after he takes after our his side of the family.

My mom will tear up.

I just want a second to stop the clock, to let me remember.

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