I realized a few days ago that I’ve totally lost the ability to wholeheartedly look forward to something; to abandon myself to the anticipation, allowing it to permeate every aspect of my being. Perhaps I’m the only one, or perhaps that’s one of the many things we all lose when we become adults. I’m not sure, but I do know I had so completely lost the art that when I saw it in Ray, I almost didn’t recognize it. Once remembered I could tap into that old feeling and even let it slide back into my soul. But only a little bit, and then it stole away again. Or was scared away by my adult thoughts of how fast time goes. With the surge of excitement came the certain knowledge that once the anticipated event comes… it will go. It will turn into a memory dropped in the back of my brain to dwell on when life in the present gets hard, but it will never be repeated.

I had a brilliant parenting idea. One of my better ones, and, as is so frustratingly typical, the reaction to my ingenious plan was completely not what I hoped for. On the chalkboard wall outside of Ray’s room I’ve been teaching her letters, ever so slowly. In just one day we’ll be boarding a plane for Australia to go on holiday for nine days where we’ll see Poppie and Yaya. So I looked at that board, I thought about that trip, and decided I could start a countdown for Ray. How fun!!!

We began the countdown when there were eight sleeps left. At first, it was a serious hit. When she rounded the corner and saw the board with its number and Aussie animals, she gasped a little and said, “Oooooh. I like it.” That’s always gratifying for a parent to hear. Almost immediately after that came the confusion. “I go see Poppie Yaya.” Well… no. Not yet. See? Eight more sleeps. Eight times you have to go to bed. “Okaaay. I go airplane see Poppie Yaya now?” Um. No. No, not yet. “Yay! Poppie Yaya! Yay!! Let’s go airplane see Poppie Yaya.” I’m so happy you’re so excited you could pop, but STILL not yet.

Over and over we had this talk, each and every time she saw the board (which is a lot). The circular conversations about sleeping first and then seeing Poppie and Yaya transitioned quite smoothly into full meltdowns. The nonverbal response shifted from her processing face to her hopeless face which quickly became full on wailing, with hands pulling at her hair and face. Perhaps not my most brilliant parenting idea after all. Telling a toddler who is full of violent and difficult to control emotions that she’s going to see loved ones, but not for eight more sleeps. Seven more sleeps. Six more sleeps. Rookie mistake.

No matter how difficult this first true experience with anticipation has been for Ray, it has had its moments. Somewhere in between the hopeless stage and the wailing stage, she pulled herself up short during one of the many circular conversations with Brian, and thought for a moment. After deliberating on this issue of sleeps standing between her and her people, she decided there was a quick solution. Off she went to her room, strictly adhering to all the routines of bedtime. She informed Brian that she would sleep now. Right now. Ten in the morning. And then we can get on the airplane and see Poppie and Yaya.

Watching a child interact with excitement has served as a reminder of that type of joy. I’m pretty sure I’ll never fully experience it again, but I’m loving the glimpses I get from Ray. And though I can’t let go of the dread of leaving Australia full of tearful goodbyes, I do know that shortly thereafter we’ll have a new countdown to enjoy!

The pictures below are from our time in Australia last year. They make it obvious why a certain little Ray is shining a bit brighter (and darker) at the prospect of seeing Poppie and Yaya again in Cairns (but having to wait).