Ch-ch-ch-changes

B is at her first sleepover tonight. She spent 45 minutes packing her bag, including a washcloth with a ballerina on it (wha?) and slippers. She literally fell out of the car, and then again over the strap of her bag, smacking flat on her face in their driveway, leaping up to announce: "I'm okay!"

Have you ever seen the movies with the pretty-spazzy-clutzy girl? She's her.

For the first time in 7 1/2 years, we don't have a crib in our house. Tonight, K is attempting to sleep in a real bed, rocket ship sheets and all. I would have kept him in the crib until he was 8, but I am hoping this move to a "big boy" bed will be the psychological push he needs into "big boy" underpants. Wishful thinking perhaps and the kiss of death to a good night's sleep, but while I am wistful for 7 1/2 years straight with a crib, I am not so much for 7 1/2 years of poopy diapers.

R has worn the same camo cargo shorts (from the Boys section of the Gap) for three days, changing into her shiny black soccer shorts only to sleep. Problem?

My in-laws came to visit today for an 8-hour "lunch". They wanted to see the kids, which I appreciate so much, but the girls spent most of the day running through the neighborhood, under-dressed (by their grandmother's standards, and mine too, I suppose, if I chose to wage that war) and were completely unimpressed by the visit. Gummy worms from Gramma lured them back inside, to which B said "Mom, you were right -- she always brings candy." And then the grandparents paid them for their report cards, and they wondered why we hadn't.

It is raining. P is leaving for a week tomorrow as I count down the days to the school auction I am running (on Thursday) and for which I have been insanely busy for most of the last 3 months and for which he will not be present. I wish I didn't have the "see ma! see me!" mentality still at 37 but I do, and it makes us both feel a little sad: I wish he could witness what I am trying to do. He wishes he could be around more. He is a good guy nearly always, despite consistently thinking my big event is on Wednesday instead of Thursday, and I know if he could he would be there.

So tonight while he coaxes a three year old ninja and five year old jock into bed for what will be the first time in at least three weeks and the last time in at least one more, and while my sweet little seven year old girl jumps on the bed at someone else's house, I sit downstairs, with the rain and the dishwasher pounding away, just trying to acknowledge it all, trying to act in the moment, so to speak.

Life is moving so fast! Does writing it down slow it at all? Probably not, probably no. But for five minutes, I do think about it, and maybe that's the most you can expect to get from life when you're living it. Five good minutes to realize that in the midst of change and chaos and everyday crap, while the world swirls on and your kids grow up despite you or because of you, you've got your five minutes, need to have your five minutes, to listen to your dishwasher and the rain alone and nothing else but your heart.