relate them to raising my kids. My husband and I have raised three children and those years were wrought with a lot of joy and some difficulty. When you are in the throes of infant and toddlerhood it seems never-ending. I remember once we had decided to go camping with friends to a marine campsite; between the four of us adults we were outnumbered with six little ones. We took over the campsite at the narrows of the lake and set up our home away from home. For some reason, instead of staying at home with a dry warm shelter over our heads, washing machines and dishwashers, we had decided it would be fun to drag a bunch of little ones to a sandy beach, sit under tarps in the rain, change wet and poopy diapers on logs then try and put them to bed quickly and quietly so we could sit by the fire and have a drink or two. On our last day there, the sun finally came out. Makeshift wash lines were strung over our heads with small bits of clothing and socks trying to dry. My friend Eva and I sat in our lawn chairs amidst the chaos trying to read magazines and get a whole conversation finished, when day boaters pulled in. They didn’t stay long. In fact the family of three teenage boys and the dad dropped off the mom and her lawn chair and then skied off. We looked over at her, we looked at each other; there she sat, uninterrupted in the sun, reading her book. Her kids, practically grown, had gone off to do their own thing. She must have seen us staring (or drooling) because she yelled over to us, "Those are the best years of your lives, enjoy them." We looked over our shoulders to see if she was talking to someone else but it was only the laundry flapping in the wind behind our heads. Of course, minutes later there was some disaster, someone had burned themselves playing with the fire. Yup, the best years of our lives alright!
Now I sit here in my quiet house. The last of my children is gone and married. I’m trying to have hobbies and interests; I get to read more. My house stays clean. We eat later these days, sometimes enjoy a glass of wine with dinner and no one complains that I’ve put onions in the gravy. My walls are missing fingerprints and my floors juice spills. My glass patio door sparkles in the sun, no tiny handprints, no gushy mouth marks. Though I’m enjoying this stage of my life and my husband and I are making the most of the newfound freedom, I have to say, I can hardly wait for grandchildren!!!