. . . Terror . . .

It was Sunday, and once again I had to take Wes out in the hall during Sacrament. (Anyone who knows Wes at all will understand why this is a very normal occurrence.) Anyway, I had gone out in the hall with him and was refusing to allow him to get down and run around, while trying to explain why he couldn't hang from the rack that held the metal folding chairs, with very little luck. He did calm down a little as one of our old Home Teachers walked by with his little girl (about 4 yrs old) and his son (about 2 yrs old) and said "Hello" to us. We both smiled back as they stopped on the other side of us at the drinking fountain, and then I turned back to Wes for just a second. Something made me look back up just in time to see the look of sheer terror cross over Ken's face. His eyes were twice the size that they had been seconds previously. His mouth hung open just slightly and he seemed to be staring at nothing, glancing at me slightly every few seconds or so. I looked quickly at his two children. His daughter was wiping the water from her chin with the back of her sweater and his boy was trying to just reach the button on the fountain that started the water. I couldn't tell what was wrong. And then he spoke "She didn't need me to help her get a drink." He said quietly. I tried not to smile as he continued. "She's tall enough to do it herself." I smirked just a bit. "She doesn't need me to help her anymore." He said shaking his head, and I held back a chuckle, knowing this was a hard moment for him, but still finding it quite funny. He tried to explain "I went to help her, to pick her up to get a drink. But she was already doing it herself. She doesn't need me anymore." He ended. I was laughing inside at this point especially as I watched his little boy now desperately trying to reach the fountain. Carefully, trying to be profound I said, "But your son still does." He looked down quickly and realized he had overlooked his son, and helped him get a drink and then walked away watching his daughter. I just chuckled, understanding his feelings, but grateful that I could take my kids growing up a bit better then he could.
Just last weekend, Phil and I bought the boys new beds. Riley got one with a ladder that is definitely a older boys bed, and Wes got a twin, and is no longer in his crib. I had similar feelings of my boys getting bigger faster then I would like. But I didn't have the sheer terror that had engulfed this poor man.
Then it happened. . . After work yesterday Riley got home from school, and I asked the usual questions, "How was school? What did you learn? What did you do? Who did you play with at recess?" It was the answer to the last question, "Guess what mom?" A very enthusiastic "What?" back at him. "I have a girl friend." I swear my heart stopped. I had to force myself to smile, and told myself that I needed to breath. "You do?" I squeaked, but luckily Riley didn't notice the difference in my voice or the fact that my eyes must have been bugging out of my head. "What's her name?" I said trying hopelessly to sound cheerful and ignoring the voice in my head that repeated over and over and over, that he was only six. "Oh, I don't know really." He replied, and I was finally able to inhale. "There's a lot of them." this made me feel better, but I suddenly understood the panic and terror I had seen yesterday in the eyes of a man standing next to a drinking fountain. My kids are getting so big, and I guess sometimes, that is going to hit me like a brick wall. That's a feeling I'm never going to get used to.