(Laci was crying, so Jess joined her!)
By Jennie Atkins
I was able to travel to Ohio earlier this month and see my twin boys with their children. My mind wandered back to so many memories of when they were little. Of the good times…and the times I threatened to resign from motherhood.
Ah, but I didn’t . . . because in between the times I wanted to run for the hills, they’d do the neatest things…like pick me a handful of daisies…or wrap me in a hug and say, “I love you.”
Or, do the following:
One day when I came home from work tired and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget the world existed around me. As I trudged up the steps of our bi-level home, I found bed sheets affixed to the ceiling blocking off my view of the kitchen.
Any of you who are mothers of multiple sons, know exactly what darted through my mind—did they set something on fire in the kitchen? Did they have a food fight, forgetting to remove the food from the plate before they flung it across the kitchen? Or my favorite—which DID happen at one time—did they act out the Battle of the Bulge using a five pound bag of flour as ammunition and leaving the contents of the bag dusting EVERYTHING in my kitchen.
No, this time their imaginations elevated them in the status of angels.
My oldest son, darted out around the sheet closing it promptly so I couldn't see inside. He wore roller skates and had a dish towel hung over one arm like a waiter in a fancy restaurant. He instructed me to have a seat in the "dining hall" (the kitchen table). So I sat down at the table, already set with dishes and silver, and a vase of flowers from the yard.
One of my other sons poked his head through the curtain and smiled. (Now, remember, I know this young man and that smile had mischief written all over it.) My third son came out from around the curtain asking me what I wanted to drink. He had everything written on a card: water, orange juice, milk, iced tea.
I chose my drink and it soon appeared being carried on a tray by one of the boys. The night went on and we had several vegetables, no meat because they were afraid they WOULD burn the kitchen down, and a fancy potato dish I had circled in my cookbook.
My boys took care of me that night. And their angelic status? Well, when the sheets came down—let’s just say their halos started looking a little tarnished. They had used almost every pan and dish in the cupboard trying to fix me dinner. But now as I look back, I’d be willing to scrub every dish again to relive that night.
So, now as I put the usual parent’s curse on my kids—you know—I hope your kids turn out just like you.
I mean it! :-)
What memories do you want to share?