Complain all you want, time moves like a turtle

I opened a wedding invitation that came in the mail, but I couldn’t read it because it was written in one of those curvy scripts that look decadent, but you cannot actually read the words; especially when you’re in your 40s. I just didn’t have the time to focus on all of those swirls… it was annoying. But I did notice this: one of the last names on the participants was the last name of one of my college friends.

She lived down the hall; a beautiful girl, and she ended up going back home and marrying her high school sweetheart after all of that college stuff. So, she married a few years before me, and her two boys are a few years ahead of mine. Since she moved back home, we’ve obviously lost track. To be honest, I’ve lost track with people who only live 10 minutes away; if we’re not on the same sports team, I probably won’t be seeing you.

But here, in the midst of all the chaos of little boys that ensues my life; the picky eaters, the towels on the floor, the endless laundry, the fighting and bickering, I paused to reflect; “Wow. It’s over for her, and I am just a few years behind her. This will soon be me. My friend’s little boys are now all grown up; one is getting married, and that empty nest is happening to her; in her life right now. I bet she’d give anything to have that train track winding under her feet while she cooks; the sound of their tiny voices. Geesh, it went fast.”

“Let this be a lesson,” I reprimanded myself. “This all passes far too quickly to complain; enjoy the boys while you have them.”

A few days passed, and I picked up the invitation again, and I noticed that it’s a fancy black tie wedding on the beach in Malibu. The driving instructions include which airlines to take. “Wow,” I thought. What kind of prima donna is her son marrying? And, whew, is he going to have his hands full keeping this princess happy.

I picked up the phone to call my friend, and to say, “Wow. I can’t believe you already have a boy that’s getting married! Time really does fly.”

“What?” she asked? “He’s only 14? What are you talking about, he’s not getting married!”

I looked at the invitation again to read it to her; turns out the invitation is for someone on my husband’s team; someone he met once; yet she’s invited the whole team to her fancy Malibu wedding. His last name just happens to be the last name of my friend.

So, phew. Enjoy yourself. Complain all you want about the kids. Time really doesn’t fly after all.

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