Somehow, I have kept the existence of this blog from my family. But, a very good source assures me that, that is the best way to write. The invisible presence of a family can cramp your style and prevent you from making those smart and perceptive remarks about the truth as you see it.
So, now that I can remove the yoke of guilt, I can make some candid confessions.
As a mother whose littlest bird left the nest a good three and half years ago, or 42 months ago, I've really got used to having the house to myself. And doing whatever I please with my time. No guilt trips when I go out.
So, when my daughter calls to say, actually I may be coming home for this Xmas, when she had promised me to come only in summer, then a bit of unease creeps into my heart. God, the cooking. All those special demands. When we've been coasting along on middle-age, low calorie sensible food. Then it’s having the house filled with sound- music and TV. Upto midnight or beyond. Clothes and books scattered everywhere. And trying hard to clamp down on my mouth from saying things like 'why don't you bathe?' 'What about preparing for the exam?' 'What about getting up now?'
My friend said to me 'It’s okay for you. At least she won't criticize you or fight with you'. She's expecting her son this weekend.
Another is expecting her newly married daughter - 'you don't have to listen to a long litany of complaints about her in-laws.’
So, mothers do experience a few twinges when beloved children are expected home.
If by any chance, some young blood is reading this, please do believe we love you. We love to have you around. Just that sometimes, we get out of practice. And yes, we want you to come home how much ever we complain.
Its' much better than having Dad retire and spend his days under our feet. :-))