28-03-2005, 01:31 PM
The baby is teething, the children are fighting, and my husband just called and said to eat dinner without him. Okay, one of these days youÂ’ll shout, "Why donÂ’t you grow up and act your age?"
. . . and they will.
Or, "You guys get outside and find yourself something to do and donÂ’t slam the door."
. . . and they wonÂ’t.
YouÂ’ll straighten up their bedrooms all neat and tidy with bumper stickers discarded, bed-spread tucked and smoothed, toys all displayed on the shelves, hangers in the closets, animals caged, and youÂ’ll say out loud, "Now I want you to stay this way!"
. . . and they will.
Then youÂ’ll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasnÂ’t been picked to death, a cake with no finger traces through the frosting, and youÂ’ll say, "Now thereÂ’s a meal for company."
. . . but youÂ’ll eat it alone.
And youÂ’ll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone! No dancing around, no pantomimes, no demolition crews! Silence! Do you hear me?"
. . . and youÂ’ll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti, no more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent, no more dandelion bouquets, no more iron-on patches, no more wet-knotted shoe strings, no more tight boots, or rubber bands on pony tails.
Now, imagine your lipstick with a point. No baby sitter on New YearÂ’s Eve. Washing clothes only once a week. No PTA meetings, no car pools, no blaring radios, having your own roll of tape, no more Christmas presents made out of toothpicks and paste, no more wet-oatmeal kisses, no tooth fairy, no giggles in the dark, no knees to Band-aid.
Only a memory of a voice crying, "Why donÂ’t you grow up?"
And in the silence will come the echo, "I did."
. . . and they will.
Or, "You guys get outside and find yourself something to do and donÂ’t slam the door."
. . . and they wonÂ’t.
YouÂ’ll straighten up their bedrooms all neat and tidy with bumper stickers discarded, bed-spread tucked and smoothed, toys all displayed on the shelves, hangers in the closets, animals caged, and youÂ’ll say out loud, "Now I want you to stay this way!"
. . . and they will.
Then youÂ’ll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasnÂ’t been picked to death, a cake with no finger traces through the frosting, and youÂ’ll say, "Now thereÂ’s a meal for company."
. . . but youÂ’ll eat it alone.
And youÂ’ll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone! No dancing around, no pantomimes, no demolition crews! Silence! Do you hear me?"
. . . and youÂ’ll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti, no more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent, no more dandelion bouquets, no more iron-on patches, no more wet-knotted shoe strings, no more tight boots, or rubber bands on pony tails.
Now, imagine your lipstick with a point. No baby sitter on New YearÂ’s Eve. Washing clothes only once a week. No PTA meetings, no car pools, no blaring radios, having your own roll of tape, no more Christmas presents made out of toothpicks and paste, no more wet-oatmeal kisses, no tooth fairy, no giggles in the dark, no knees to Band-aid.
Only a memory of a voice crying, "Why donÂ’t you grow up?"
And in the silence will come the echo, "I did."