I complain about my home and family sometimes. From underwear in the dishdrainer to John’s weird hoarding tendencies, there is no shortage of things going on around here for me to shake my head about. I’ve been home alone during the day for the last couple of weeks without much to keep me terribly busy, but there never seems to be enough time to do all the things I want to do and it just dawned on me that this is because even though the kids are at school/college/work I’m still doing a whole lot of mothering. The secret they don’t let us in on when we start our families? Those kids keep on needing us even after they’ve gotten taller than we are. I can be bummed that I’m hopping in and out of my car constantly or answering the phone all the time or I can look at the bright side.
It’s cold outside. I don’t want to leave the house, but I need to go to the post office today. Why? My daughter’s college room mate texted me, asking for homemade kettle corn. They live ten hours away and I can’t do much for those girls living in their dorm room with their own questionable sanitation and nutrition habits but I can make the hell out of some homemade kettle corn. Being asked to cook for young people makes my heart go thud, so I may even throw in some homemade breakfast cookies while I’m at it.
If you’ve read some of my older blog posts, you know that washing clothes is not one of my greater strengths when it comes to keeping house. Most of the girls’ laundry has to be gently washed and carefully line dried because it was purchased at that mystical mecca of trendy yet nearly disposable clothing that’s make from eyelashes and butterfly wings, Forever 21. I don’t particularly enjoy laundry hanging on every rod and hook in my bathrooms but it does give off a fresh scent that masks the stench from the litterboxes. So there’s that.
My twenty one calls me almost every day. She asks for…(wait for it)…my opinion about stuff. Like diaper rashes and nightwaking. It’s been a long time since my kids were babies and there’s a lot that I’ve blocked out from those early parenting years, so I don’t know of how much use I am. But she calls me. When I was trying to mother this kid through her turbulent teenage years, I could sadly imagine her never wanting to talk to me again once she struck out on her own, so that’s no small thing.
My youngest wanted to be picked up from school today. She normally enjoys riding the bus home, but sometimes the noise produced by noisy boys who’ve been forced to behave all day gets to be a bit much for her. Which was fine until I realized how nasty the weather was. I ran out to pick her up in a Navy hoodie, Birkenstocks, and white socks which promptly got wet when I walked through a puddle. So while it wasn’t what I really wanted to be doing at the time, I do like going into her school. I like seeing where she spends her day. I like seeing the vice principle, who knows every single kid by name, and says hello to me and reassures me that Jilly’s really okay. And I like the time in the car alone with her while she fills me in on all the things she did that day. Sure, I can watch most of The Maury Povich Show if she rides the bus home, but I do miss out on something special if I don’t go get her.
I still want a week without driving/cooking/thinking and I know that I’m not going to get it for a while. I’ll just invest in some warm rain boots, keep my car gassed up, the phone charged, and I’ll try not to run out of popcorn or patience.