The Grass Will Grow Back

I am in the kitchen. Beth (2) rushes in. She is clasping a clump of tangerine day lilies in her hands.

"Mommy, I picked you flowers!" She giggles.

I peek out the kitchen door into my garden. The flower bed behind the house has been trampled and all of the blooms have been plucked off the stems. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I think of all the time I spent weeding and caring for the flowers.

As I scan the scene of the devastation, I want to shout "You ruined my garden!"

But when I look into Beth's round brown eyes, puffy cheeks and happy smile, I know I can't do that. The flowers will grown back, I tell myself.

I am out in the yard. Eric (7) is climbing our ash tree. It's barely more than a sapling but the lowest limb is just strong enough to hold a small boy. He is pulling chunks of leafs off the branches and stuffing them into a bag.

"Look Mom." He calls. "I have a hundred leaves."

The tree seems to buckle a bit under his weight. The lowest branches are bare now, cleaned of their coverings. I can feel my heart pound as I think of the time and money spent coaxing the tree to grow.

My poor little tree, I lament as I survey the mess. I want to shout "Stop ruining my tree!"

But when Eric flashes a wide grin, I know I can't do that. The leaves will grow back, I tell myself.

I am sitting in the yard with Emily (4). She is yanking fists full of grass out of the lawn. She tosses it in the air like confetti and shrieks.

"Mommy, it's raining grass!" She exclaims.

I frown. There are brown blotches all over the lawn. I can feel my stomach clench as I think of days spent watering and feeding the grass.

The lawn is ruined, I think as I examine her work. I want to scream "What are you doing, stop it!"

But when Emily laughs and throws her arms around my neck, I know I can't do that. The grass will grow back, I tell myself.

I am sitting on the couch flipping through a photo album. There's Eric when he was three. He's hugging his teddy bear and smiling. This one is Emily when she was learning to walk. She's wearing a pink dress. See how proud she is. Here is Beth. She's just a few days old. She's wrapped up tight in her blue blanket with her eyes squeezed shut. I can feel my eyes brim with a small tear.

They keep changing and growing, I think. Inside, I am pleading. "Slow down! Stop growing. Please stay small for just a little bit longer."

But when my babies bound into the room and jump on my lap, I know I can't make that happen. They won't grow back. They will only grow up.