So, we've been feeling really, really melancholy in our home these last few days. What with the boys all being gone on spiritual journeys and such. And like a pig in the mud, we've decided to wallow.
Been playing old family movies, folks. Every single night. And can I just say that, as a form of torture, seeing your maturing children back in the soft focus of remember when, well, it brings a grown father and mother to their weeping knees faster than any dripping water on the forehead, or '007-seatless-chair-gonad-whapping' ever could.
It's a combination of guilt, guilt and more guilt. Followed by an unhealthy dose of guilt.
"I should have breast fed longer."
"Would it have killed me to let him eat the dog food?"
"I should never have locked her out of the house like that."
How were we to know that they would grow up? As far as we were concerned, this was "The song that never ends...yes, it goes on and on, my friends..."
And then one day, this little piggy goes to the market...or Target...and the other little piggies stay home. And just like that, it's...over. The last baby lullaby refrain. Suddenly, the song was never so sweet, never so cherished, never so absent as it is from that moment on.
Years ago, my father solemnly and sincerely uttered these words..."If I'd known how wonderful you were going to be when you grew up, I'd have been so much kinder to you." And we embraced, and I laughingly reminded him that if he'd been any less of a parent back then, I'd never have been as wonderful as I am right now.
Or as humble.
You've heard the phrase, "All because two people fell in love..."
Well, it takes more than love to raise a child. I'm coining the phrase, "All because they locked me out of the house."
Feel free to put it in vinyl above your hearth.