Wet oatmeal kisses

The baby is teething. The children are fighting. Your husband called and said, “Eat dinner without me.”

One of these days you’ll explode and shout to the kids, “Why don’t you grow up and act your age?” And they will.

Or “You guys go outside and find yourselves something to do. And don’t slam the door!” And they won’t.

You’ll straighten their bedrooms all neat and tidy, toys displayed on the shelf, hangers in the closet, animals caged.

You’ll yell, “Now I want it stay that way!” And it will.

You’ll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn’t had all the olives picked out and a cake with no finger tracings in the icing and you’ll say: “Now this is a dinner for company.” And you’ll eat it alone.

You’ll yell, “I want complete privacy on the phone. No screaming, do you hear me?” And no one will answer.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti. No more dandelion bouquets. No more iron on patches. No more wet knotted shoelaces, muddy boots or rubber bands for ponytails.

Imagine a lipstick with a point. No baby-sitting for New Year’s Eve, washing clothes only once a week, no PTA or silly school plays where your child is a tree. No more car pools, blaring stereos or forgotten lunch money.

No more Christmas presents made of library paste and toothpicks. No wet oatmeal kisses, no more tooth fairy. No more giggles in the dark, scraped knees to kiss or sticky fingers to clean. Only a voice asking, “Why don’t you grow up?”

And the silence echoes, “I did.”

Thanks loads for sharing, Winnie. That one is so very true and don’t the years just fly. Now after they’ve been home for a visit, the house seems so empty when they leave.

— Aunt Norie, P.0. Box 265, Tonganoxie 66086 or auntnorie@bdc.net