masking & unveiling

Aside from my short interlude post this past Sunday, I've been absent from the blog for almost a week. It hasn't been that bad, has it? In fact, if you think about it, I unselfishly gave you the precious gift of time for seven whole days — an unexpected five minutes for every log on with no new posts. You just can't put a price on that. Unless it's Chipotle Gift Cards, and in that case, you know where to find me.

What a week it's been: six 17-plus-hour work days in a row, gearing up for fall at church. I'm tempted to think I should have paced myself and not played it lazy so much this summer, but I'm too full of memories and watermelon and serenity to leave much room for regret.

In between all the work, it's been a remarkable week in other ways, too.

For one thing, Katy Claire started crawling, and for another, she hasn't choked to death on an abandoned Lego yet (although not for lack of trying). Also noteworthy is the moment yesterday when Connor asked me "how come we have to clean our room if you don't clean yours?" and I didn't strangle him on the spot. I'm getting SO MUCH BETTER at self-restraint.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing that is happening, though, is that Clayton is becoming a man.

I'm not talking about the fact that he's behaving more responsibly, or the fact that after 12 years he suddenly cares what he looks like (after years in which he would have left the house without pants or failed to notice a half pizza stuck to the side of his head). I'm not even talking about the fact that he gets out of bed in the morning and inexplicably turns on SportsCenter, though no one in this house could have told you what channel ESPN was broadcasting on before he found it last month.

If you sit with him or watch him for any length of time, he remains a silly, guileless child for the most part, with much to learn in the ways of the world. But this week it's been that first glance that's kicked me in the gut, that moment where he comes around the corner into the kitchen or into the foyer at church, and I get a glimpse of the 19-year-old that's slowing stealing my 12-year-old's face.

It struck me at 4am this morning (as things like this are wont to do at 4am), that my days of primary influence on him are drawing to a close. At all once, I knew that I hadn't done enough, and that I had done too much.

And that, my friends, is the real reason why I've been away from the blog for a week. It keeps me from putting a voice to the scary thoughts in my head, lending them weight with my words. Coming up for air is harder than staying deep in the world of tasks and work, where I meet deadlines and bend things to my will without much resistance, and things like the dark, uncertain future can't take my breath away.