My mother once said, “Every age is the best age.”  This comforts me.  Today is the last day of school.  It is bittersweet.  For a moment, I am rooted.  I reflect.    

Though another year has passed, the boys are more mature, sharp-witted and clever.  We are in adult conversation.  We are closer in age.

I woke my third grader, Stephen, this morning.  He is my youngest.  I asked him, “Which is more exciting, the last day of school or the first day of school?”  He mumbled through his pillow, “I don’t know.”  

He is still innocent and elementary.  I don’t know which is more exciting.  My senses are heightened.  I can only discern there is more distance between this year and last.  The progression of time dissolves deeper into their childhood. 

I am acutely aware.  Time is not linear.  A forty-year-old experiences the passage of a year much more quickly than a nine-year-old.  

I take comfort in my mother’s wisdom.