I no longer need to run them a bath, let alone remind them to bathe. And as any mother of boys will tell you, this is mostly a good thing. Yet here’s the irony. I now wish they wouldn’t bathe so often. “But Mom, I just walked to the mailbox, I must take a shower, for what if a girl were to stop by and I didn’t have the overwhelming scent of Gag (excuse me, I misheard him) TAG ‘First Move’ body spray exuding from my very pores?”
I no longer need to cajole, con or convince them to cut their filthy fingernails. They are no longer comfortable walking around with days-old dirt and barbeque sauce caked around their cuticles. I’m happy about that. What I’m unhappy about is constantly being asked, “Where are the nail clippers?” I don’t know where they are. And what’s more, I don’t even know where they came from. I have never in my life purchased nail clippers, and neither has my husband. Have you? But at any given time in our household there exist two or three currently lost pairs. I think nail clippers must just appear out of nowhere when you become an adult—kind of like gray hair or orthodontist bills. If only those would disappear.
I no longer need to remind them to use the potty. But I do need to remind them to lift up the toilet seat (number 1), turn on the fan (number 2) and, I don’t know exactly how it happens or why, but please oh please stop clogging up the toilet!! Enough said.
I no longer kiss and hug them in public….but I have no problem whatsoever asking them who they kiss and hug in public…or in private…and did their braces get stuck…and does she come from a wholesome family….and do her parents have the wherewithal to finance the wedding of my…er…your dreams…?
I no longer need to tuck them in at night, chase away scary monsters in their closet, whisper a prayer and scratch their backs, but (okay, start the violins) I do it anyway.
