Pinch Pots

I woke up, the day after Zach and Josh's 18th birthday, fell into the normal routine of the day, and noticed the pinch pots that have sat proudly on my dresser for the last 10 years or so.

For those of you who don't yet know what a pinch pot is, they are little clay "pots" that usually are a Mother's day project done about second grade or so. Each one unique, each one "pinched" with tiny fingers wanting to please.

I stared at them for some time that morning, picking each one up and examining them with renewed interest and nostalgia. The orange one from Seth, the turquoise one from Zach, the spring green one from Abbie and the self portrait from Josh. Each with their own sense of the maker's creativity, each one with the marks of the tiny hands that formed them.

I can remember them wrapped up in some type of bag or another with bright drawings carefully etched into the paper, anxiously brought home on a Friday before Mother's day either hidden by one or displayed temptingly by others. Always, however, proud, proud faces that shown with the excitement of giving a gift that they created with their own two hands.

I always knew what was in the bags, whether they could actually wait for me to open it on the day or made me open it earlier because their patience had waned. How I loved opening them, rolling the pot around in my hand, a watching the twinkle in their eyes and the smile that spread across their freckled little faces when I told them how beautiful a job they did. I always immediately added them to my collection on the dresser, each one another milestone in lives so filled with promise and love.

The years have gone so fast and the moments stolen faster than I could acknowledge they existed. My sons grown into men and my daughter well on her way to becoming a young woman. Where does the time go? My dad always used to comment to other people about "not blinking, because they grow up too fast". It is the most true statement I've ever heard.

Their lives are unfolding now with choices made by not just me, but them as well. The tiny, sausage-like fingers that long ago so lovingly created something for a mom that always had lots to do and places to be, are now attached to hands bigger than mine with lots to do and places to be. Lives that I hope, no, that I know, will be filled with love, happiness and contentment.

So for all of the countless numbers of papers I've secretly tossed,( and I know my children alone are responsible for the felling of a forest the size of Oregon with all of the papers I've "recycled") the pinch pots will always have a spot on my dresser to remind me not only of the love that shone in their eyes the day they gave them to me, but to also make me remember that time is a fleeting moment and every day with them, before their off to discover themselves and the kind of life they want to live, is a gift. I hope I never take for granted the little pinch pots, but more importantly, the hands that made them and the love they have for me.

May my children's lives be filled with 10 times more treasured moments I have been fortunate enough to receive from them!

There it Goes....

Time is a thief
Silently stealing moments
From a life fallen into
And not chosen.

Each second melts into days,
Years ticking by
With the second hand
Of the clock in the hall.

How do we catch
Time without remorse?
It slips thru
Cupped hands like water.

The only trace of it
Are the lines in the mirror
And the echoing regrets of
Taken for granted moments
That are never restored.

Time is a thief
Of forgotten chances.
Life is a moment
Of our own ignorance.