On no longer needing to read to someone

 I cried making popcorn today.

We had gone to the library. This is well-worn territory for me. I've been driving the familiar route to our town library with children in tow for twelve years. Sometimes I wore a baby and nursed in the corner. Sometimes I chased toddlers and begged them not to steal snacks. Sometimes we met up with friends for baby story-time and sometimes I sat and sipped coffee while my children brought me piles of books to read.

Today we went. Everyone went and got there books. They used their own library cards to check out books and we piled back into the van and drove home. The request was made for popcorn and, another parcel of well-worn territory, I dutifully scooped the coconut oil and poured in the kernels. My children scattered to their favorite cozy areas to flip through their newly-acquired library treasures. 

As I stood in the kitchen listening to kernels pop and sipping hot tea, it hit me-- no one had asked me to read a book.

When did they stop bringing me their picture books to read? 

When did we stop coming home to immediately pile up on the couch to flip through the entire catalogue of Jan Brett?

Why didn't I notice this?

I'm sure, initially, it felt like a sigh of relief. A break. A moment to breathe and clean a floor. But, what is actually is, is my kids are growing up and growing in independence. My oldest will be 13 soon. My youngest is 5. No one needs help buckling. No one begs for "just one more book" before bedtime. They chat with their siblings until they drift off to sleep. My job is changing.

And that's why I cried.

I am so thankful to have had all of those moments-- all of those picture books. All of the snuggles on the couch. I wouldn't change a second. But, also, I don't want to miss these moments either. I want to be on their team. I want to be their friend someday. I don't want to walk around lamenting the little years when the physical needs were so high.

My oldest listened to a political podcast with me in the car a couple of weeks ago, and we chatted about it. It was a fun peek into the next few years of what our relationship could be like. Sure, we aren't driving around naming the various diggers at construction sites or blowing bubbles in the backyard, but this is the next iteration of those same things, right? 

There is grief in the closing of a season, even a happy one. Getting married is the end of singleness and inevitably changes all of your friendships. Having a baby (and then four more) does the same. So, it's not surprising that this sudden realization is pricking my eyes. But, I want to also look forward with joy and anticipation. 22-year-old me could not have possibly known all of the highs and lows marriage would bring. 25-year-old me could not have possibly known the emotional rollercoaster of having a child and giving your heart to another. And 38-year-old me has no clue what the future holds for parenting. But today I can accept this gift from my good Father, grieving what has past, and setting my eyes on Him in anticipation of the good gifts he is and will bring.

And, for now, I'm going to gather up some picture books and read to whoever wants to listen.