Krista Lynn Keane

It was going to be a perfect evening.  Our dear friends had called us earlier in the week and invited our family to dinner and a concert under the stars.  Tim McGraw.  Woo Hoo!

After a lovely dinner with lots of laughter and great conversation, we packed eight of us into a seven-seater and made our way to Fiddlers on the Green (an outdoor park and concert venue in town).

We spread out blankets for eight on the big grassy hill looking down to the stage. We made a trip to the concessions, the bathrooms, and the bathrooms again.  Kids and Sprite you know.  The weather was perfect.  A light breeze was blowing and the temperature hovered around 78 degrees.  The threat of storms made a move around us instead of over us.

As the minutes ticked by, the once massive grassy area we were sitting on became crowded with blankets and concert-goers.  We enjoyed some people-watching, and even made a few acquaintances around us.  Everyone seemed nice.  One lady even shared her Chocolate Riesens with us. Now that’s a nice person.

At 7 o’clock the first band opened.  Love and Theft.  Hmm, not sure the origin of that name, but they were pretty good.  Then the second performer, Brantley Gilbert.  I’m not really sure what genre of music he represents.  Country?  Heavy Metal?  Rock?  Anyway, we decided he’s a cross between Metal and Country, therefore, Mountry.  Yep, we could be our own comedy troupe.

Then the sun set, and darkness fell across the venue.  And somewhere lurking in the shadows must have been every wild and crazy person in the Denver Metro, because now they were all around us.  The once calm, friendly, chocolate sharing, crowd was snuffed out and replaced by drunken, stoned, Tim McGraw fans.  Or perhaps just fans.  Fans of parties in general, and the music doesn’t really matter.

Our once comfy section for eight on the soft grass and clean blankets, was now littered with beer bottles.  Our blankets were soaked, and I’m not sure from what.  The smell of cigarettes and pot (thanks to the passing of that amendment) wafted through the air making it thick and difficult to breathe.  Then dozens of people started making their way through our little oasis.  Trampling over our blankets.  Cutting through inches of space between us.  And going where?  I still don’t know, but they came by the dozens.

By the light of our cell phones we grabbed our blankets and belongings.  And stood.  We stood close together.  Not one more person was breaking through this human chain of eight strong links.  No way.

Oh, and Tim McGraw was still singing.  For some reason he had no clue what was going on in Section D.  Silly guy.

About 10 p.m. we decided enough was enough.  Now it was our turn to make our way through the crowd.  Holding onto each other for dear life, we headed to the nearest exit.

We made it!

Outside the gates of Fiddlers Green Park, we burst out laughing.  That’s all we could do.  Because in that moment, there were no words.  There was no great explanation we could give to our tween and teen daughters.  Never did we expect a concert, under the stars, to be so, so…. Honestly, I still don’t have the words for what it was, but it was an evening I will cherish and never forget.

Because we were with friends. 

And it really doesn’t matter what you do, or who you see in concert.  When you are with friends, it’s all good.  You are together.  Making memories.

And by the way, the concert tickets were free. Whew!

“Enjoy every moment, because it goes by too fast.”

I used to hear that statement regarding parenting, and cringe.  Perhaps my disgust at the phrase was a result of the place I was in at the time I heard it.  Something about the scent of a dirty diaper and gold fish crackers wafting through the interior of the mini van I swore I would never drive, caused me to want to shout a few choice words to the person that said it.

Really?  Really?  Enjoy THIS moment.  I think not.

I did not love the infant and toddler stage of motherhood.  I found myself in a vicious cycle of anxiety, loneliness, and feeling inadequate and exhausted.  And I certainly did not feel like embracing each moment because it would be gone too suddenly.  Quite the opposite, I wished it away.  But once my kiddos turned four-years-old, things changed.  I embraced it.  I found my rhythm, my confidence, my “I can do this thing” mantra.

Well, here we are now.  My oldest daughter has turned 12.  She is now the pinch hitter for the frazzled moms of toddlers.  A babysitter, bringing a few hours of relief to tired mommas.

And more than that, she’s found that life exists beyond the walls of our happy home this summer.  She has girlfriends to see, community pools to swim, church activities to attend, dance camps to dance, and sleepovers to (not sleep).

This momma is struggling.  Where did the time go?  The question I vowed when she was two and potty training that I would never, ever ask.  Here I am, missing her while she’s gone.  Waiting for her to come home so we can talk about her day.  And thankfully, she still loves to visit with her not so old, not so young mom.

It’s different now.  Not bad.  Just different.  A new phase of life to get familiar with.  But also a time where I’m trying to piece together where the time went.  I’m wracking my brain trying to remember the past 12 years.  And when I do this, it’s the good memories that surface.  The frustrating moments from years past have drifted into the foggy recesses of my mind–where they can stay.

This phase of life will pass too.  The good memories will be filed in the close reaches of my mind, and the bad ones will take a backseat like the others.  But through each phase, whatever it brings, I will try to be thankful—thankful for every moment, because it does go by too fast.

I received a beautiful pedestal blackboard for Mother’s Day.  It has magnetic wrought iron filigree around the edges, with pretty little floral magnets adorning each corner.  I love it!  It sits on the island in our kitchen, and we write little notes to each other, or post scriptures and thoughts of encouragement.

The weather is cloudy and cool today, and it put me in a little funk.  So I thought it was a perfect time to write, in what I consider to be pretty descent cursive writing, Choose Joy.

I didn’t think much more about it until Matt came home from work and asked me, “Who’s Jay?”

“I have no idea.  What are you talking about it?”

“You wrote ‘Choose Jay.’  Really? You could have at least wrote, ‘Choose Matt.’”

Those darn cursive o’s and a’s.  Apparently mine need some work.