10 years from now I’ll be standing at my front door, watching them roll down the driveway, heading off on an adventure of their own. University? Trade school? Perhaps a backpacking trip? I’ll wave with anticipation, tears strolling as I send them off with every well wish that a mother could have.

I’ll turn back into the house and it’ll be quiet. Too quiet. I’ll roam the upstairs hallway, passing by their rooms, saying I’ll turn them into beautiful guest rooms and a yoga retreat, all while fully knowing that I will never touch them. They will be left as is, anxiously awaiting the kids return with me, hoping it’s sooner than later.

I’ll roam into the kitchen, passing by their growth chart and remembering the days when I was taller than them. I’ll spot the art wall, the place where their schoolwork and daily accomplishments used to be displayed for all to see, recalling when we’d celebrate with pop for dinner for a good report card.

I’ll look at the baking drawer, remembering how little their hands were when they first learned to use a rolling pin to make cookies. I’ll stop in the hallway and look at pictures, the same pictures that I’ve walked by a thousand times, and remember that amazing trip, that awesome adventure, of the days that they were little and we had “so much time” ahead of us.

Time. “So much time.”

When I stand there in 2030 and think back to ten years ago, I hope I am proud of how I handled the gift of time that 2020 handed to me. The gift of uninterrupted, unscheduled, and unlimited time with my children. The gift of Mom not having to rush off to work. The reality that a sink full of dishes that could wait if a blanket fort needed to be reinforced. Of a bakeoff that lasted 8 hours, and a bike ride with no destination or expected time of return. Of sleepovers in each other’s room, and bedtimes a thing of the past. We can stay up late if we’re deep into a good book or watching a movie marathon because we can.

Let’s make ourselves proud. After all, we only have “so much time.”