Well, I blinked. And already it is the first weekend of November.

I’m still wondering where September went.

One minute we were having cookouts, cutting grass, swimming, going on picnics.

Now, those days have been replaced with brisk mornings, early sunsets and shoppers browsing the aisles for that perfect Christmas gift.

That’s the funny thing about time.

It doesn’t ask our permission.

It doesn’t wait for us to catch up.

It just keeps steadily moving.

Time just keeps ticking, like those hands on an old kitchen clock.

Fast and steady.

Never stopping for even an earth-shattering moment.

Tick.

Tock.

But if you listen closely, if you really listen, the calendar is whispering to us.

It says, “Pay attention.”

Maybe it’s the season. I have always been quite sentimental when it comes to autumn you know.

Or maybe it is the way those markings on the wall continue to inch higher every time my grandson stands against it.

At least as straight as one who is not quite yet 3 is capable of standing.

Maybe it is his voice and how it is changing — ever so slightly — as I listen while he chases bubbles across the back lawn.

The days of rocking him and singing softly into his hair, calming him to sleep, they are gone.

The moments when he is buckling his own seatbelt and attempting to dress himself, they are here.

But they, too, will soon be gone.

Tick.

Tock.

He is growing. And I am watching.

And, I am hoping.

Hoping that time will be kind enough to let me see it all.

We spend so much of our lives rushing.

Always in a hurry.

Don’t we?

Rushing to work, rushing on errands, rushing through dinner, rushing to get the laundry done.

But after all, the clock is ticking.

Tick.

Tock.

But when you are fortunate enough to have a child, a grandchild, something within you changes.

You begin to notice.

You begin to notice the way the sunlight hits his hair when he is bent over doing a puzzle.

You memorize the way he holds on to your hand — not just how it feels when his tiny fingers intertwine with yours, but the sincerity with which he trusts you to hold it.

You memorize the way he says, “I love you” — not just the words, but the inflection in how he tells you, the way your heart instantly warms at eight simple letters.

I have to confess … I am absolutely terrified to blink.

Tick.

Tock.

I want to be there when he loses his first tooth.

I want to be that person who loudly applauds from the bleachers even if he never scores a touchdown, a goal, a homerun or a basket.

I want to cheer for him despite it all.

I want to hear about his favorite teacher, his first love, his dreams of becoming a pilot or a wrestler or a veterinarian.

We already know that time goes by so quickly.

Tick.

Tock.

We say it all the time.

But knowing it and feeling it?

Well … that is completely different.

Feeling it means holding on tight to the moments that matter.

Feeling it means putting down your phone and picking up a storybook.

Feeling it means saying “yes” to the tea party. Even if the tea is imaginary and the cups are sticky.

Time does, indeed, pass all of us by in only a matter of blinks.

Tick.

Tock.

Tucked inside this little corner of your newspaper, I am enclosing a wish — a wish for you.

Think of it as a note placed inside a child’s lunchbox for them to read when they are out of your sight, but as a reminder that you are thinking about them and how much you truly care.

My wish for you: May time pass gently.

May it allow us more mornings having pancakes and watching Bluey cartoons.

May it give us more evenings spent with sidewalk chalk and lightning bugs.

May we never be too busy to notice the miracle of a child growing up.

One laugh, one scraped knee, one whispered secret at a time.

Tick.

Tock.

From my front porch to yours, I hope that you will always remember to listen to the calendar every time it whispers and tells you to pay attention.

(Stenger is the community editor of the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at jstenger@heraldstaronline.com.)