Good morning. (I'm not working today, so it's a great morning.)
I read inkdragon's diary this morning and it reminded me of this. It is an entry I posted in June 2002. It bears re-printing. All you moms should print this (the poem part), tape it to your fridge and refer to it many times over the next 3 months. Make it your mantra for sanity's sake.
This is an Open Letter to all the parents out there with kids home for the summer. Been there, done that. I hated June sometimes, but always loved September. It usually took about 4 days of summer vacation before they started the "I'm bored", "There's nothing to do" routine. Mine are, as you know, grown now.
The following is a little poem/letter that I have saved so long that you can no longer read it. I found it today after a google search. When my daughter was 3 years old in head start, her teacher typed this up and put it on construction paper. She then had the kids dip their hands in paint and put their handprints on each side of it. I can't read it out loud anymore because I choke up every time I do. I have since found out that it was written by Erma Bombeck, over 27 years ago.
"Wet Oatmeal Kisses"
One of these days you'll explode and shout to all the kids, "Why don't you just grow up and act your age!" And they will...
Or, "You guys get outside and find something to do -- without hurting each other And don't slam the door!" And they don't.
You'll straighten their bedrooms until it's all neat and tidy, toys displayed on the shelf, hangers in the closet, animals caged. You'll yell, "Now I want it to stay this way!" And it will...
You will prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't had all the olives picked out and a cake with no finger traces in the icing and you'll say, "Now this is a meal for company." And you will eat it alone...
You'll yell, "I want complete privacy on the phone. No screaming, Do you hear me?" And no one will answer.
No more plastic tablecloths stained. No more dandelion bouquets. No more iron-on patches. No more wet, knotted shoelaces, muddy boots or rubber bands for ponytails.
Imagine.... a lipstick with a point, no babysitters for New Years Eve, washing clothes only once a week, no PTA meetings or silly school plays where your child is a tree, no car pools, blaring stereos or forgotten lunch money.
No more Christmas presents made of library paste and toothpicks, no wet oatmeal kisses, no more tooth fairy, no more giggles in the dark, scraped knees to kiss or sticky fingers to clean.
Only a voice asking, "Why don't you grow up?" And the silence echoes: "I did"
Erma Bombeck
Enjoy these summers. Someday you will wish you could have them back.
