Standing at my kitchen sink just now, I noticed that our gigantic thirty year old tea-roses have exploded in a zillion directions, neon green shoots against the deep emerald of the established leaves. Every April, we are treated to a fireworks show of riotous blossoms, tiny yellow and white flowers bursting by the hundreds on each branch. While the blooms could technically last for a month, a good rain usually wipes out the lot by the end of the first week.

I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee, and searched my recent memory for that moment when I first saw the roses blooming this year. Nothing. I glanced at the deck. Sure enough, it was littered with sodden blossoms, the aftermath of a floral kegger. Actually, it looked like my living room floor after the bowl of popcorn and glass of juice were dumped simultaneously by my rampaging two year old. The roses are one of the early harbingers of Real Spring, and whether I greeted them cheerfully or lamented the start of allergy season, I always took a moment to admire their spunk.

Apparently, I missed it this year.

It's unsettling. As I checked the calendar this morning, I noticed with shock that there are only four weeks left of the school year. I've grown accustomed to the routine of the school year, and these last two weeks at home with my three sick kids felt like a hazing ritual designed to test my home-for-the-summer mettle.

My status as a mother of a kindergartener, preschooler and young toddler is about to change again. I've been at this blogging thing for less than a year, yet the entries from last summer feel ancient. Whatever shall I get the preschool teachers for a thank you gift? Will my kid be okay at school? Will the school hold my kid hostage if I don't sell enough gift-wrap? It seems that all that stewing netted some funny blog entries, but by and large, I've made it over the hurdles. Okay, so I crawled under a couple, but I'm sill on the other side of the track.

The thing is, I don't remember the journey, not really. There are isolated snapshots, the tang of a bittersweet moment, the jolt of pain from a missed step, or the percolating burn that accompanies supressed laughter. The rest is a haze of putting one foot in front of the other. The new green shoots demand attention, and although it surely happened, I don't recall the frantic, wild blooming that happened a few weeks ago. Ah, life with my growing family. My kindergartner put on quite the floral display this last year, and yet I feel like I missed it.

This is why I blog. Reading over my words sharpens the details, brings out the colors. The abstract knowledge that the kids are somehow different, that they've matured and continue to grow in a wild, unruly way, becomes tangible. In these entries lies the key to the journey. It's all here...the perfumed air, the mess on the deck, the moment when I raised my eyes and thought "huh, the roses are in bloom."