Monday, March 24, 2008

When my child has a home of her own

A friend in one of my Yahoo groups wrote this and posted it today. It's too good not to share.

When My Children Have Homes of Their Own

I can't wait to visit them. First I'm going to drop my coat on the floor. In S's house, I'll make sure I track snow all the way into the dining room before kicking my shoes across the room. In Z's, I'll simply remember to bring six or seven pairs of shoes and leave them ALL in a heap by the front door, even summer sandals when I visit in December.

Next I will go into the refrigerator and take out the milk and forget to put it back. I'm going to eat half an apple and finish the orange juice and put the empty carton back in the refrigerator. I'll complain heartily that there's no good food.

I'm going to snack, a lot, on the awful food they do have, and I'm going to make sure that I leave the dishes under the couch. With my socks.

I will make a point of missing the wastepaper basket when I drop lip gloss blotted Kleenex towards it, and I will figure out exactly how to make the faucet not quite turn off.

If they do ask me to pick something up (I hope they won't because I'll be so elderly, but they might), I will promise to do it in a minute. I will promise this several times, while they still ask nicely and when they lose their temper (assuming they would do such a thing with their poor elderly mother) I will definitely manage to look hurt and act as though they had only to ask nicely once. Of course, I'll have the benefit of senility to give credence to my performance.

I plan to forget things when we leave the house, and not remember until two blocks from our destination, and then I will blame them for rushing me.

And at meals, I will definitely want to leave half of the food on my plate and put it in the garbage before asking ten minutes later what else there is to eat.

I know that as frustrated as I might make them, they wouldn't dream of yelling at me.

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