Summer Hiatus

I heard recently that the stories of my adventure in fatherhood had been missed. And I found that heartening. (Okay, so one person mentioned to my wife that I hadn’t posted in a while, I’m not comparing myself to George R.R. Martin.) And it’s true. I haven’t written in a while. It’s not because my kids have not been entertaining or amusing, that there hasn’t been anything to write about. But I’ve been busy. Preoccupied.

With making time stop.

Spoiler alert: So far, despite Herculean efforts, I am not succeeding. Now, why would somebody want to do such a thing? Okay, so it’s not that big a mystery. Most people want the same thing. For time to slow down. But what was the impetus in my case?

The Doozer finished Kindergarten.

It was a month ago now. More. I mean, he’s officially a first grader. And I can’t handle it. I don’t know what to do with a first grader. I can remember what it was like to be one myself! I’m not ready to have one in my house. What do I do with a first grader?

But the world doesn’t care about that. It’s indifferent to my suffering. I can catch up or not, it’s going to keep turning. And time is going to continue to march forward.

I just want this moment to last forever.

And this one.

And this one. (Bubbles!)

I am afraid that fatherhood has made my heart fragile. The Doozer got a medal at the end of his soccer season. And there were tears. Little Brother brushed his own teeth. More tears. I think I might be too sensitive to be a parent. It seems difficult to believe our parents’ generation was like this. And definitely not their parents’ generation.

I don’t want them to grow up because I worry about the future. Their future. College, jobs, the world itself. Will it even be here? Have we doomed them simply by bringing them into the world? I don’t think I used to think this way. Why do I now?

I can’t see Boyhood. I mean, I really want to see Boyhood. I’m going to see it. But I know full well I will bawl my eyes out the entire time.

So I want to hold onto every moment from this summer and live in each of them just a bit longer. Little Brother’s ridiculous excitement over seeing his first fireworks. (Or just being up past his usual bedtime.) Eating dinner on the patio and flipping out about planes flying overhead, like he’s Tattoo awaiting the guests at Fantasy Island. The two of them talking to Siri, saying things like “Hamburger” and “Monster” just to see what she’ll do.

And giggling. My god, the giggling. The pure, unadulterated joy of it. And hearing a 2-year-old demand to hear Foo Fighters when riding in the car. Dancing like a maniac to Jack White’s Lazaretto. Thrilling at the sight of fireflies from the upstairs window at bedtime. Saying good night to trees. Trees. Pretending the kiddie pool is a dunk tank and falling backward into it. Again, with great peals of laughter.

The giggling. If it could just go on forever.

Okay. I have to stop. I can hardly see through the tears as I sift through these memories. I told you, fragile heart. And complete inability to stop time. So I will try to capture these moments and hold them. Like fireflies in a jar. Let them stand still. For a moment. Forever.

God, parenting really sucks.