Leaving marks

I have two boys.
They are 11 and 9.
They make a big mess.

I am only one person.
I am old enough to know I shouldn't have to pick up for able bodied boys.
I bitch and moan about their mess.

While walking past their room last week my breath was taken away.  No, not because of some unidentifiable stench.  I stopped dead in my tracks because of what I saw.  There, on the door frame, were height marks written in pencil.

Their height marks.

I cried.

This was not something I or my husband knew of, let alone orchestrated.  This was allll them.  And since this is a base house, those precious recordings will be painted over in about 6 weeks when we move.  I didn't know about the marks, mainly because I try to avoid their side of the house, or when I am on their side, I am too busy bitchin' about the mess.

My boys, who have lived in seven houses, took it upon themselves to leave their mark.  I picture them laughing and giggling, maybe raising up a bit on their toes while the other is lining the pencil on the top of their head, and then the transcriber saying, "My turn, my turn."

And never telling us.

I was reminded of traditions of childhood my boys might be missing.  What else haven't we done for them?  What other experiences, no matter how small, might we have unintentionally skipped because of moving with the military?  About six years ago, we had purchased a strip of wood with the sole intention of making it purty and using it as a mobile measuring stick.  When we moved three years ago, we discovered that strip of wood forgotten in a corner of the garage, warped from heat and time. Without a mark on it.

I was affected by those pencil marks and reminded of how they are still so young.  Young enough to want to be measured.  Young enough to think they might get into trouble for writing on the walls. But old enough to want to leave their mark when we move yet again.

What could I do now?  The big things in life are easy.  It was the little things in life that I needed to slow down and take the time to experience with my boys so that they know their momma cares.

Because I want to leave my mark, too.