She always tells her thirty-year-old son "text me when you arrive", because knowing that he's safe is still the only way she can sleep well.
She will call to see how the first day of school separation went for her grandkids and if her daughter made it to the car before tears streamed down her face.
She comes to the rescue with a shoe when there is a creepy crawly in the bathtub, keeps Benadryl on hand for when her twenty-five-year-old develops hives, and will loan her minivan when her kids don't want to get their freshly washed car dirty.
She buys certain foods when the kids are coming home for dinner, keeping their preferences in mind, even if it's something she doesn't care for. (Jalapeno poppers anyone?)
And no, she no longer needs to do these things, but she does them anyway.
Because a mother always wants to make life easier for her kids when she can -even when they’re capable, responsible humans and can do all the things for themselves.
And she always wants to know they’re safe.
Because mothering doesn’t stop when her kids turn eighteen, move away, or have their own kids.
It just changes.
She buys certain foods when the kids are coming home for dinner, keeping their preferences in mind, even if it's something she doesn't care for. (Jalapeno poppers anyone?)
And no, she no longer needs to do these things, but she does them anyway.
Because a mother always wants to make life easier for her kids when she can -even when they’re capable, responsible humans and can do all the things for themselves.
And she always wants to know they’re safe.
Because mothering doesn’t stop when her kids turn eighteen, move away, or have their own kids.
It just changes.
Photo of the week: a date with the Grammie included hanging out at the library [for rather a long time] and McDonalds Happy Meals. 
No comments:
Post a Comment