Springtime in Idaho

You know it's spring in Idaho when you have one child on the ski hill and another on the golf course.
It was a fabulous spring day. Busy for me, but in a pleasant way. I got up early and put my 9-year-old on the ski bus with a friend. Then, after a quick nap I took my 11-year old and 7-year-old to Twin Falls. I dropped my son off to meet my sister at the fabric store where they picked out fabric for his First Communion outfit. To give you some example of his personality. He chose a bright green silk for the lining and a sparkling silver for the front of the vest. This is not a traditional 1st Communion outfit. I've decided I don't care. He should feel comfortable and express himself the way God made him. Last year, my middle child wore pants. Another break with tradition. They were darling white satin capris. So once again, we'll send up a stir with in St. Peter's parish.
Then, my oldest needed dropped at the golf course, where she played 9-holes with one of the state champion golfers -- a senior with whom she attends school. This young woman has become an amazing role model for my young daughter. She's a good student, a good and kind person, an athlete and generous with her time. Today she played golf with my sixth grade daughter. She's a senior with lots of friends and plenty to do, but she took time out of her weekend to play a few holes of golf with my daughter -- who, by the way, had never played golf with anyone but her dad.
Middle child is hooked on skiing. This is an odd thing as she is the one who hates being cold the most. She loves it -- but no one else in the house skies, so she's kind of on her own. Each weekend for the last month or more, I've found someone to take her skiing or I've taken her on my own. Today I paid the pass fees for a neighbor girl/babysitter. I put them on the ski bus to the mountain. They skied from open to close and came off the ski bus tired and sun burned.
My babies are growing so quickly. Each of them are in the process of losing their "baby" and turning into a young man and young women. My oldest, at 11 is rapidly -- as in with lightning speed becoming this ...this... woman.
She has porcelain skin and fuchsia lips and the most amazing eyes... and I keep staring at her...and her sister... in hopes if I stare at them long enough I'll never forget how they look at this moment. I'm trying, albeit a futile effort, to memorize each freckle as they look at this moment. The curve of their smiles... the glint of wonder in their eyes.
My son still has his baby face..although that, I sadly know, will start to change over the summer. With him, I want to pack around a tape recorder so I will know each amazing phrase the young man utters. He has a command of the English language I can't even begin to fathom. He, like his sisters, is an old soul with an understanding of the world most adults will never understand.
Yesterday, after a series of frustrating losses on the wrestling mat, my tiny little man looked at me and said, "I know I didn't do as well as I did last year, Mom. But I'm still really proud of myself."
Why can't I have such confidence?
It's a joy to watch them grow, truly. I look forward to seeing what they do and who they become. But it's days like these that I wish I could freeze time and hold their tiny hands in mine forever and ever and ever... I hope the freckles never change.