Staring at the Sun

During the summer months the sun runs long into our evening commute. If I time it just right we catch the 6:02 Music City Star leaving Hermitage headed to Mt. Juliet. It runs parallel to West Divison and cruises along at about 40 mph. Windows down, my rear view mirror reflects messes of blond hair whipping in the wind, muffled cheers as the train blasts his horn. It eventually out runs us and we turn for home.

As fall settles in, the hours of daylight in our commute quickly grow shorter each day. I notice it more now because the kids narrate what they see as we drive. Cloud patterns, school buses, airplanes, and more will all soon disappear into the night. The positive about this fleeting daylight during the commute is the sunsets. Tonight as I drove up the last hill on Lebanon I was blinded by the reflection of the sun in my rear view mirror. I drove past our turn into Hickory Hills and pulled into an neighboring parking lot.

When I was probably Roland's age I remember my parents, especially my Mom, repeatedly calling me from whatever I was exploring on the beach to come sit with her on a log and watch the sun set. I would stare intently at the blinding circle, watching for any trace that it was actually moving. Within seconds I'd lose interest as I was convinced it was definitely not moving and resume wandering the shoreline. She'd call us back again and again and I would notice less of it was visible each time but for the life of me I could not see it moving. Finally, it would set and we'd seem startled that it had actually occurred and we missed it. I would discover that as it fell below the horizon, the last moments move the fastest, and were the best to watch.

Tonight, on a grassy mound overlooking the Nashville skyline Roland wandered around me while Aria sat in my lap and we "watched" the sunset. I would ask them how much they could see, "It's full!", "It's half!" and finally, "It's almost gone!" We discussed the earth, sun, our solar system, etc. It was an enormous sun and the parting colors didn't disappoint.

Proof

While running tonight I thought about how no matter how much you watch the sun rise or set, it's actually quite hard to notice the change. (Plus it hurts to stare into the sun, just saying.) One minute it's a huge, blinding ball of light and the next it's gone. This thought caused me to think of the kids. Lately they haven't seemed any different than six months ago, and yet, when I stop and really notice, they have grown so much, and like that realization the sun has set, so too their maturity startles me.

Talking with Roland about the sunset he assured me that the concepts we were covering he already knew. How I asked? "I used my own brain and came up with these ideas and conclusions!" he exasperatedly explained to me. Literally pulling at his hair in frustration with my skepticism while telling me how the earth rotated around the sun. Later Brian shared, "Roland informed me we need to make some more money, to get another parking spot so we can buy an RV." I realized that I assumed everything he needed to know and understand about the world we would have the opportunity to explore with him, but it is extremely apparent that the concepts of the world and how it works he's figuring out fine on his own.

Aria too changes a bit more every day. As her language and vocabulary grow I want to follow her around with a recorder to capture how she says, "Purprise!" and "be berry quiet". "Whoaland" has given way to "Roland" and less and less I decipher her speech for other people. Her sense of humor is leaps and bounds more sophisticated than her brothers and mine, and it's a toss up if giving hugs or causing Roland strife is her greatest skill set. She is also a professional arguer, and attempts to correct you even over your response. Notice = attempts.

We all know that like those last moments of a sun plunging out of view our kids are growing up too fast. (That stupid phrase...) Sometimes I think the best thing to do is stare intently at them, but it is probably more healthy to look away and look back from time to time. So much of their growth is still dependent on the lessons and moments we carve out for them, but I think the free-thinking, compassionate and confident kids we want to raise are actually forming, and doing some strong thinking on their own. Granted, it's a fine line between growth and cleverness. Aria in her most convincing voice and cutest smile pleading with me at bedtime to "sit with you and watch the news" doesn't fool me for one minute. Most of the time. :)