| 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 '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 i 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." Written By Erma Bombeck |
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