Sorry for those of you who are tiring of my nostalgic "savor-this-moment" type of posts. But go with where you are, I say. And this is more certainly where I am.

At least today…

When I look back on when they were small, I remember endless hours strung out before us. We filled each one however we wished, with ice skates and and sleds, glue guns and scissors, tree forts and hiking trails, books and paints.

And each day poured seamlessly into the next.

That beautiful abundance of time is perhaps the one thing I am most grateful for from these 15-plus years of homeschooling. So much time! To get to know one another. To deepen our connection. To slow and learn and be.

There was no where else to be, and they have grown up just as slowly as they wished. We rarely found a need to hurry, something my children are especially grateful for (since it's something I do with embarrassingly little grace). I'm grateful, too.

But now, as life accelerates to a teenage pace, as more projects and work and obligations find their way onto many of our plates, open calendar days are suddenly scarce. When we have them I resist leaving the house, opting instead to revert back to those slow, delicious days that I remember.

And so yesterday, normally a stay-at-home-and-homescool day, when we had to venture out to check on something at LüSa, I decided to make the most of it. We called a couple of friends, then headed to the skating pond in a nearby valley. It was our first trip there all season, and Lupine's new skates could hardly wait to hit the ice. (Or perhaps it was Lupine who was the eager one.)

We spent a couple of hours there with friends, in the cold and quiet of the valley, laughing, skating, talking, and drinking cocoa before heading back to our safe and cozy nests once more.

Sage opted out of skating in exchange for some paid work, and I marveled at how quickly an all-play-no-work kid has become an ambitious young man.

His decision to stay back might have been what motivated me most yesterday – to tie on my own skates, to hold hands with this still young kid of mine, to play and laugh and be. Right here. Right now. Not later or tomorrow or when it's more convenient. But today – with cold toes, rosy cheeks, and the last vestiges of childhood still woven through my fingers.

Fleeting? Oh, my yes.

Fleeting indeed. 

But I plan to savor every drop.