1. Lotsa pink.
2. Lotsa sugar.
3. I love it, but it sure is lotsa work.
4. Why is it over so quickly?
5. Snow days make ME giddy, too.

Both of my children were born in February, and somewhere along the way, in a spasm of enthusiastic overreach, I encouraged them to consider February THEIR month (and the world their oyster, btw).  Selectively obedient girls that they are, they did.

For years, all 28 days of February have been a haze of hearts, descendants of the color red, calories, and paper products (invitations, Happy B-day cards, be-mine cards, thank-you notes).  My older one even indignantly questioned why a certain holiday in early February had been tainted by a mild disagreement.  It took a moment to realize she was talking about her birthday, not Valentine’s Day.

But this February has been exactly like the Procter & Gamble Salute to Moms.  Bittersweet.  See my blogroll for a link to this lovely ad that highlights the hopes and dreams and long-term parenting that Olympic athletes rely on.

Yes, I can see my kids swiftly closing in on the finish line to this marathon called “growing up”, but I also still see the little girls in the little leotards, learning one dance step at a time.  My teenager has been signed by an agent, but still needs me to drive her to her photo shoots.  Then hang around without looking like I’m hanging around — it’s an art.

My Princeton student has traveled to Carnegie Hall to accept a screenwriting award, but she still needs me to call the New Jersey cab driver I befriended to get a recommendation on an honest mechanic.  Befriending New Jersey cab drivers is an art, too.

The teenager skipped her 16th birthday party with friends, and asked for tickets to a play instead.  Always working on her stagecraft.  The college student?  With a lump in my throat, I called in an order for her 21st birthday cake.  Had it delivered.  She called to say “Whew!” for the plates and utensils I sent her way, too. Those things come in handy when you’re hosting your own birthday party for the first time.

Snow day you say?  Last night, as I drove a certain somebody home from acting class, cutting a path through Houston snowflakes who hadn’t yet changed their minds, Mini-Me fantasized out loud about classes being cancelled.  When we arrived home, I sat down at my computer to watch a video that my older one made of her most recent snow day.  In their minds, too, they’re still kids.

Top 5 ways that being a Mom is exactly like being a Time Traveler:

1.   We look ahead. We believe ahead. When our children are young, we fix our vision on the future.  The pitfalls AND prizes.  We concoct a secret home recipe of faith, hope, and       chutzpah, then use it as our fuel for our carpool, or for fighting fatigue, or riding out disappointments.

2.   And we look, feel, think backward. Like the archetypal Mom, the Champion Mom, at the end of the Procter & Gamble ad (blogroll, please), we sit in the stands, eyes on our child, our hearts on the finish line.  Our memories filled with the milestone markers we saw on the journey.

3.   Einstein’s Theory of Relativity asserts that if you travel far enough into space, in a fast-enough rocket …. when you return home to Earth, you will find that you have aged less than your sister.  YES. For those of you who don’t take Einstein at his word, those who need more proof:  This controversial theory of youthification is easily proved by hearing a new mom’s speak in her new language of monosyllables.

4.   Sometimes, time stands still.  Like the pulse-racing eternity that passes between the glimmer in baby’s eye that tells you he just realized he’s going to take the first step of his young life ……. and the second step of his young life.

5.   Timelessness.  No, I’m not talking about the fact that your toddler doesn’t believe in Daylight Savings Time, and now wakes up at 4:30 instead of 5:30 in the morning.  I’m referring to the fact that in motherhood, there is no expiration date on the silent vow to get it right, right the wrongs, to include what was left out of our own childhood journeys.

When children arrive, they bring us the precious, (dare I say golden?) opportunity to grow new psychological muscle.  We find the will to cheer them across finish lines that we ourselves only heard tell of, or were afraid of.  Our best hope is that they clear the hurdles that felled us and left our knees raw.  When they do triumph, go ahead and cheer Mom.  It’s your victory, too.