I look into her eyes, the same brown of mine, and want her to tell me everything behind them: Her innocuous seven-year-old secrets about dreams she’s had and where she thinks the unicorns sleep and innocent thoughts sprinkled with anger about her baby sister invading her privacy. She keeps secrets about words girls say to her and what she thinks about God.

And I beg her to tell me.

She won’t. She says that she can tell me everything but she has to keep at least one thing secret.

I ask her what that one thing is, if it is a good secret or a bad one. (what will I do if she says bad? and my mind begins to race…)

Good, of course. Mama…I have to keep one thing to myself.

Okay, as long as it’s a good secret. Do you think you’ll ever tell me?

She smiles, and says maybe.

Because I’m already worried that the dialogue will close. That I won’t be able to say anything to her that she will trust or believe. I’m worried about all the non-innocent secrets she will have soon and that she’ll still keep them to herself.

I don’t need to know everything. I don’t need to know how many times she’ll be embarrassed by me or when she thinks that she hates me. I don’t need to know that when she’s twelve she might wish she was born into a different family.

So I’m trying to talk. A lot. And I’m trying to listen more than I talk and show her that I hear her. I want to be the one she tells the big secrets to.

And maybe one day, before she gets too old and forgets it all herself, she’ll tell me where the unicorns sleep at night.

My mother is turning 60 this year. And if I look half as good as she does at that age, I’m going to be a serious senior-discount card wielding hottie.

Fast forward 25 years into my future and this is what my 60 year old self might say to my 34 year old self:

1. Your daughters will someday be your best friends.
2. Children’s school days speed by in two blinks so keep your eyes open. And so does their innocence.
3. You’d better get your eating habits under control because its gonna get real hard real soon to lose any weight.
4. Pay attention to your husband. You don’t want to stand next to one another at your daughter’s high school graduation and realize you don’t know him.
5. You are young. I know you already see the laugh lines, the ones around your eyes and the few grey hairs…but trust me, you don’t know what it feels like to age yet.
6. Take some lessons in courage from your daughters. They are already far braver than you.
7. You are only beginning to have influence. Use this power wisely.
8. Your seven-year-old will stop holding your hand soon.
9. And your three-year-old won’t always ask you why you are wearing gummy vitamins around your neck (see photo). Soon she’ll be able to understand the complexities of Calculus (and while we are on the subject of necks…).
10. Be the best mom and wife you can be right now with the time and resources you have. There are no do-overs here.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m learning all this stuff now. Or maybe I’m going to need reminded in 25 more years when my hips hurt and I’ve long ago switched from jogging to walking.

All I know is that I spend time more quickly than I spend money. And that time is more precious than any diamond rings or paid-off mortgage.

So I hope when I am 60, I wear my age as well as my mother, proudly and without excuse because I know I’ve done well, lived well and not wasted the time.

Its the end of September and the third official full week of school. The weeks are concise, formulaic and have routine bred in them – they have innate cadence. The days, weeks are racing by like the pages of a flipbook and I am beginning to see my life and my kids’ lives accelerate. It is as if I am watching in time-lapsed motion speed.

Life does this, speed by, as I age, I am finding. Everything gets, well, fast.

Time stretches as a child. A little girl can live a day within an hour and a lifetime in an afternoon. This child wakes up in the morning and knows that there is an entire world of possibilities laid out for the day. But this little girl also yearns to grow up, make her own choices and be in charge of her time. Life begins to pick up its pace, like a runner in her last mile of a race.

Right now, for me, time is beginning to quicken. I know it in all surety. This is adulthood.

Last week, on the stairmill at the gym (the ones that look like escalators), I realized that when I paid attention to the step, step, step of my feet, my time went unbearably slow. I was counting the minutes and portions of minutes down until I was done. But I realized, that with anything, when I let my mind wander (planning our trip to England, writing my blog in my head), the time jetisoned by, zooming through the minutes.

So this is it, to live in each step, step, step, like a baby girl. I should live my lifetimes in an afternoon and pay detailed attention to the placement of my feet, what I do and what I say; playing with my children, cooking for my husband, spending good time with a friend, taking care of the things that God has placed in front of me – joying in this life. I shouldn’t yearn for life to move on, I shouldn’t wait for the next day or month to happen. I cannot change time or the way I age, but I can alter how I see each day. Living in my today-step: this is the only cure for adulthood.