The days are endless but the years fly by.

I was about to enter those words as my comment to someone else’s post but thought the better of it. They have become my slice, instead.

The days are endless but the years fly by.

This is the best description of parenthood that I know.

When the kids are very young, days and nights blur into a fogginess that knows no clear delineation. When parental sleep cycles eventually temper back to humane, the mornings still start before sun up and yet the work is never done, even when stretching to finish way past sundown, folding that last load or making one more sandwich for the morrow’s lunches. It’s a long time with long days.

Fast forward through those years of long days to high school. Everybody is “awake” and out the door by 6:45 a.m. and yet miraculously still up eighteen hours later, making pizza or baking cookies at midnight. Same hours as in infancy, but the bodies are much bigger, and louder. It’s a long time with long days.

Now, the house is nearly empty and time moves differently. The kids are young adults – two teachers and a plumber, and our hours are mostly our own. We can almost rise and set with the sun, if we choose to.

The days were endless and the years flew by.

We seem to have gotten where we are in the blink of an eye.

Now, the years slide together and the days have slowed to – just right.

Just right to look back and wonder how we got here so darn fast.