Breathing in the "..."

Phew. Halloween is over. Now the year will start to wind down, but in a fast-forwardy sort of way. This is because every week marks some sort of event: election, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and all the preparation and travel that is required to make these events happen. Because I am brilliant, I threw training for and running a marathon into the mix. Brilliant.

Now that I am aware of life via the eyes of a two-year-old, I look back on Halloween as sort of a warning. Here is how I think my daughter perceived the day: waking up to find a carved pumpkin that was instantly her best friend...Thanking daddy when he woke up for "putting the Halloween on her pumpkin."... Being told that it was the day of trick-or-treating, and not really knowing what that means...Getting shuffled to daycare...having fun friends visit at daycare...watching a Halloween parade...getting picked up at daycare--but not to go home...Going to Aunt's house to a pre-trick-or-treating party, what ever that is...Having mom stuff her into a Barbie and the Diamond Castle costume...running around to houses that apparently have not felt the economic squeeze because their Halloween decorations totaled more than our monthly mortgage payment...having to say "trick-or-treat" and "thank you" over and over...Ending up at a post-trick-or-treating party... Back to Aunt's house to get a small sugar high on...going home only to be put to bed...

Exhausting to read, even. Maybe because I overused the "..." in that paragraph, but that "..." resembles everything that is real and exhausting to write about: the smiles and laughing that we did, the tantrums we all threw, the tantrums we watched every other kid throw, the pooping in our pants. The real stuff. The stuff that makes us crazy and joyful and tired. The stuff you cannot capture in a photograph.

The thing about the "..." is that those are the times we catch ourselves breathing and looking around. The "..." woke me up from the Halloween hysteria when I realized that my two-year-old did not want makeup on her face and did not need it to complete her costume. It woke me up when I realized that we over exhausted ourselves, and I had to bag the trick-or-treating and carry a limp and cranky toddler down the street.

It tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "take it all in, next year she will be too big to carry that way, so don't miss it now."

As I face the fast-forward effect of the upcoming holidays, and I jump from event to event, I will remember to stop in the "..." and not miss a thing.