My Loves

Sometimes I feel like I'm everybody's mom. Do you have ___? Did you wash your hands? Be sure to drive safely/say thank you/get enough water/do your homework! How ya feelin'? Let's hustle so we aren't late.

I get overtaken by that role. And I forget that I'm the who forgets ___, washes her hands perhaps too often, drives without special care/doesn't do my homework, feels okay most days but appreciates a check in, and is usually late. Sometimes, I need mothering.

Not that I'd accept or welcome it. I'd likely take it for granted or even get annoyed. (Sorry, Mom!)

Tonight, though, rushing from practice to studio, to open house, I looked up. And there they were, my loves. One I know will fly the nest, and then who will benefit from
my matronly skill set? The other who so patiently bides the reminders and directions, perhaps double thinking the statute of time for annulments.

I looked up and saw them faux race-walking in comic acquiescence to my, "We're late, let's hustle!" They turned back to scold, "Hurry! You're making us late!"

Sometimes I'd love to be mothered. All the time I'm grateful to mother. Never would I trade this role.