Mother's Day in September

I have been at an interesting parenting phase for the last few months. I swing between feeling like I can't wait until all my kids are grown and gone, leaving me with a calm clean organized house and lots of me time, and feeling like I want to freeze time so they won't ever leave me alone in a lonely boring dull home where nothing fun ever happens.

I have had these feelings for about 20 years (this April 6) but I have never had them so strongly, so close to when the empty house is a distinct possibility. The reason I dream of their departure is obvious. They are pigs. They eat everyplace and tuck the wrappers in any crevice; they drop stuff (backpacks, dirty socks, dumbbells) in the middle of the kitchen, hall, family room; they pee all over the bathroom. They leave a path of destruction and dirt. They yell and stomp and roughhouse. They slam the toilet lid, they leave the garage door open all night, they eat the food I am saving for a special meal, they play their music too loud. They exclaim that there is “Nothing To Eat!” the day after I drop $600 on convenience food at Costco. They say they took out the trash when they didn't. They unload the measuring cups into the silver wear drawer and the pots and pans into the Tupperware cupboard. They constantly ask for food, "what's for dinner?" is the Smith Family Motto. They are stinky. They have their friends over and loudly dominate the house. They complain.

But then they make up for it in the most ridiculous way. Like fighting over who opens my car door, or playing with my hands during church and then slouching way down on the pew so they can rest their huge heads on my shoulder. They get sick in the middle of the night and only feel comforted when I tuck their 6'4" bodies under the covers and they sigh and say, "Thanks Mom”. They hug me until I can hardly breathe and then pat me on the head and say, "How's my little mommy?" while smiling down at me indulgently. They sing "Ooo, Ahhh. Isn't she beautiful!" when I walk into the room. They brag to their friends about what a good cook I am. They watch me during movies (and commercials) to see if I am teary eyed, and if I am, they exchange a look that says, "She’s a softie".

They know I will let them have the crowd at our house and are proud to introduce me to their friends. They seek my approval of their latest song, basketball trick, or academic accomplishment. They shovel down the entire meal while exclaiming about how great it tastes. They tell me about how strong and cool and brave they are while they flex their new muscles for me. They check to see if I was watching when they made the goal. They share secrets late at night while I sit on the edge of their bed. They tell jokes, act goofy and do silly dances and skits to make me laugh. They pick me flowers. And the first thing they do when they come home is go to the bathroom, then they find me.

So for now, I will continue to swing between the ideal tidy fantasy of having an empty house, and the noisy chaotic reality of having teenage boys. Deep down I know that this time is short, smelly and full of crumbs, but preciously short. So I will continue to step over that sweatshirt, and turn a blind eye to the messy bedroom. I will keep practicing patience and smile and shrug when I am outnumbered and overwhelmed. I will remind myself that I will have a calm orderly life later. Right now I need to buy more food.