Measuring Time

Time, moments, minutes, escapes me, it's lost, it passes, it's cherished. My childhood memories are clearly marked by the measure of "school time". For example, I cut my foot open and received 40 stitches, the summer going into 3rd grade. I would literally have to do the math in my head to figure out what my age was. Strange, I tell you. These days, time is flying by. I seem to blink and a month has passed, or a season is ending, a few more wirey hairs are appearing from my scalp, and sometimes I have to give a real close thought to how many birthdays I have celebrated. On the other hand, I wonder why some parts of my day seem to drag on and on, if time is just flying by? Late afternoon, after quiet time, but before the whole dinner routine, moments seem to linger. No matter what time J comes home from work, his truck arrives not a moment too soon, on what could be the longest day on earth. Why is it that the longest nights are only the ones, where I am awakened every hour or more, the nights when my mind will not turn off and just enjoy the silence at 338am. Feeling incredibly well rested means opening my eyes after the clock says 7 am and if by chance it says 730 I feel like a sleep fairy has graced my life. Sometimes I can be overheard saying sleep is overrated, an obvious chant of an underslept woman. The beauty of Measuring Time is that I can be reminded of how long I have been in love and exactly how long my girls have put a sparkle in my eye.