Life’s Always Changing
I remember being home with my mom on a Friday morning. I was little—really little. She was getting ready to go to the office and sighed, “I wish I didn’t have to go to work.”
I thought the same thing: I wish you didn’t have to go either.
But I was headed to my grandma’s house, and honestly, that softened the blow. Grandma’s house was the best. She made the world’s greatest buttered noodles and cut summer sausage into perfect little coins. I got to watch all my favorite shows and play Kings in the Corner and Go Fish on demand—basically a four-year-old’s dream of luxury and power.
It wasn’t until years later—when I became a mother myself—that I understood that feeling in my mom’s voice. I spent what felt like entire decades flying around the house like a feral squirrel in yoga pants, trying to feed everyone, keep things semi-clean, and still make it to school on time to teach a class. Between the school year, summer school, and the endless parade of kid-related responsibilities, every week felt…full. Very full. I often just wanted life to slow down for five minutes—preferably while someone else unloaded the dishwasher.
My mom always said life doesn’t stay the same for long. At the time, I rolled my eyes because I assumed everything would stay exactly as it was—forever. But life had other plans. For a long time, I had no kids. Then suddenly, everything was kids. Now I have one high-schooler at home (well, two with Mendy—but that’s a saga for another day), and my boys are men. Kadon is a junior at UW–Milwaukee, and Luka is married with a family of his own. Somehow, I blinked and turned into the mother saying, “Wait… what just happened?”
My mom loved her work as a paralegal. She found it interesting, challenging, and—unlike my laundry room—predictable. After sixty years in the same office, she finally retired at seventy-eight. Sixty years. I can barely commit to a pair of leggings for a whole afternoon.
Life is complicated. It’s packed with choices—some fun, some hard, some that involve macaroni art and questionable PTA commitments. But none of it stays the same for long…and maybe that’s the point.
Back on that Friday morning, I just wanted my mom to stay home. Now, decades later, I see the truth she tried to teach me: every season shifts, even when we’re convinced it won’t. And if we’re lucky, we get to look back, smile, and realize we’ve lived through more chapters than our little kid selves ever imagined.
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