This is one of my favourite poems. Reminds me to cherish these younger years with my children. Even when the days are long and trying, because sometimes they are. Because one day they will be all grown up and my house will sit in the silence of echos of the days they played here. Cried here. Fought here.
Happy Mother’s Day weekend to all of you.
Wet Oatmeal Kisses
One of these days you’ll explode and shout to all the kids,
“Why don’t you just grow up and act your age!”
And they will…
Or, “You guys get outside and find something to do —
without hurting each other And don’t slam the door!”
And they don’t.
You’ll straighten their bedrooms until it’s all neat and tidy, toys displayed on the shelf,
hangers in the closet, animals caged. You’ll yell, “Now I want it to stay this way!”
And it will…
You will prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn’t had all the olives
picked out and a cake with no finger traces in the icing and you’ll say, “Now this is a meal for company.”
And you will 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. 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 babysitters for New Years Eve, washing clothes only once a week,
no PTA meetings or silly school plays where your child is a tree, no 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”
– Author Unknown
