Motherhood

A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the
empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and
gone.
Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby
is
teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat
without
him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you?"

OK.

One of these days, you'll shout, "Why don't you kids grow up
and act
your age!" And they will.

Or, "You guys get outside and find
yourselves
something to do ... and don't slam the door!" And they won't.

You'll
straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper
stickers discarded,
bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the
shelves. Hangers in the
closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now
I want it to stay this
way." And it will.

You'll prepare a perfect
dinner with a salad that
hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no
finger traces in the icing, and
you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for
company." And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say: "I want complete privacy
on the phone. No dancing around. No
demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?"
And you'll have it.

No more
plastic tablecloths stained with
spaghetti. No more bedspreads to protect the
sofa from damp bottoms. No more
gates to stumble over at the top of the basement
steps. No more clothespins
under the sofa. No more playpens to arrange a room
around.

No more
anxious nights under a vaporizer tent. No more sand on
the sheets or Popeye
movies in the bathrooms. No more iron-on patches, wet,
knotted shoestrings,
tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.

Imagine. A lipstick with a
point on it. No baby sitter for New Year's
Eve. Washing only once a week.
Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your
teeth cleaned without a baby
on your lap.

No PTA meetings. No car pools.
No blaring radios. No
one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night. Having your
own roll of Scotch
tape.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out
of toothpicks
and library paste. No more sloppy oatmeal kisses. No more tooth
fairy. No
giggles in the dark. No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only
a
voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?" and the silence echoing, "I did."

This was exactly what I needed to read today.

A gentle reminder not to wish it all away.

To savor the small and simple things.

A reminder that it's ok if I don't mop my kitchen floor everynight.