Time Marches

I'm always surprised by how many people approach my family when we're out in public. This is brought on, in part, by our stepping-stone boys (aged 4, 6, 8 and 9), which tends to elicit fun questions such as "Are they all yours?," "When are you going to have your girl?" and my personal favorite, "Do they all have the same father?"

On a trip to the Outer Banks this summer, we stayed at a hotel halfway through the nine-hour-drive. In the restaurant, the boys got so frustrated with people staring at them, our four-year-old crawled under the table and said he was tired of getting "looked at." (And let it be noted that we were experiencing a lot of positive energy at that moment, so the looks weren't about bad behavior).

Aside from the aforementioned comments, what I hear most from these onlookers, be it at church, the mall, or on vacation, is how quickly time passes. "Enjoy them while they're young," an elderly woman will say. Or "I remember when mine were that little," says a mom of teens.

Sometimes my eyes well up with tears upon hearing this. "I'll believe it when I see it," I think on particularly rough days. But I know deep down I will one day be sitting on a stain-free sofa in my home, hearing myself think, and I'll wonder where the time and the little boys went.

Not long ago, the boys and I met my brother and his family in between Augusta and their home in Atlanta for a few hours of playtime together. As I loaded the boys to hit the road, I grabbed an old mix tape from my college days and popped it in for the drive.

The music whisked me right back to my days as an undergrad, when I would cruise I-20 regularly. Windows down, volume cranked, my tiny Honda Lulu and I would rock to the tunes of U2.

In the midst of my moment, (me, Bono and his nameless streets), I turned just enough to catch sight of a boy, out of the corner of my eye, wailing on the air drums. In the rearview is an air guitarist. And behind the musicians, lead singer and back-up rock their heads and mouth the words. Who are these children and what are they doing in my band?

The moment is gone, and just as quickly I am back in the present, driving my Suburban filled with little men -- my men -- marvelling at the speed of ten years gone by.

Time travel helps -- I'm enjoying the moment, keeping my wits about me, and suspecting it really does go as fast as everyone claims.