OATMEAL KISSES
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?"
Okay.
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 their 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 in the sheets or
Popeye movies in the bathroom.
No more iron-on patches,
rubber bands for ponytails,
tight boots or wet knotted shoestrings.
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 more 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".
Author: Erma Bombeck
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