By Lorry Myers
I am close to each one my children even though they live in other states. I have been bossing these three around all the days of their life. I have held them and rocked them and comforted them and lately, I have been doing a lot more of that. My children, thankfully, have a very tight bond with each other, and that has only gotten stronger in their adult years. But now, since my husband’s passing, these collaborating, conspiring, conference calling children, are all up in my
Suddenly, they are the boss of me.
“Mom,” my oldest daughter, Hilary, said. “Your hair is all bunched up in the back.”
“Oh.” I replied, my shoulder popping as I reached to smooth it down. “I can’t see it anyway.”
“You know, even though you can’t see it, everyone else can. Please tell me it doesn’t look like that every day? Don’t you ever look at the back of your hair?” Hilary with a gasp, a stricken look of realization on her face.
“What I can’t see can’t bother me,” I said, looking like I was teasing but really meaning every word I said.
“Mom, how hard is it to look at the back of your head and fix your hair?”
I didn’t tell her, but someone used to do that for me.
My youngest daughter, Mariah, reminded me that I need to check the labels on the food in my kitchen. “Your eggs are three days past the expiration date and I am afraid to open that milk carton. Mom, you have to pay attention! You have spices that need to be tossed and biscuits that are about to explode! There is a bag of cheese you don’t want to see and a jar of salsa that I wished I hadn’t! Mom! You have to eat this stuff before it goes bad,” Mariah declared, throwing her hands in the air.
I didn’t tell her, but someone used to help me with that.
My oldest child, Taylor, came for a visit and took a tour of my place. The grass is neatly mowed but there are weeds where there never used to be. I have bare spots where rain has washed the mulch away and a colony of spiders living in my mailbox. I forgot to put my trash out and when I asked him to get my bicycle down from the bike rack hanging in the garage, Taylor came back into the house and sighed.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard