My parents just dashed off at the crack of dawn. They're organized like that. The coffee pot was pre-set, the keys were neatly laid out in orderly anticipation. There's no question that the gas tank was full. As I lived with them over the course of this past week, I was reminded of aspects of my childhood.
I remembered that my Dad always had the vehicle pre-warmed and de-iced and waiting for us before a family jaunt. I remembered that he always made sure I knew how to change a tire and to insure my car. The way he said I love you was by filling my gas tank or by replacing my old wiper blades. I remembered that Mom liked to have pre-cut veggies out and waiting for us much of the time. I remembered the coffee she'd bring me while I languished in bed as a teenager. I swooned as I recalled her many back scratches. I swooned because I was enjoying a modern-day one as I recalled the former ones.
It feels so nice to be cared for by someone again. Not, of course, that my loved ones don't care. But they don't care for me in that just sit down and rest and don't even think just now of all the lunches that need to be made for tomorrow sort of way. I'm almost always the one planning and preparing and setting out uniforms and packing the swimming lessons bag and the one who runs around meal planning and homework helping and the one who cringingly has to cut the poop chunk out of our cat's bum fur and it's all as it should be. But this week, I remembered that it feels so nice sometimes to flop across someone's lap and just think about nothing but how lovely it feels to have one's back scratched for a long, lazy time. That's parents. I guess it never really ends. With your parents, it's somehow ok to just revert back to being a selfish kid who doesn't feel like doing work, but who just wants to curl up on her bed reading stacks of Nancy Drews and graciously allow Mom to bring her a nice drink while she does so.
I remembered that my Dad always had the vehicle pre-warmed and de-iced and waiting for us before a family jaunt. I remembered that he always made sure I knew how to change a tire and to insure my car. The way he said I love you was by filling my gas tank or by replacing my old wiper blades. I remembered that Mom liked to have pre-cut veggies out and waiting for us much of the time. I remembered the coffee she'd bring me while I languished in bed as a teenager. I swooned as I recalled her many back scratches. I swooned because I was enjoying a modern-day one as I recalled the former ones.
It feels so nice to be cared for by someone again. Not, of course, that my loved ones don't care. But they don't care for me in that just sit down and rest and don't even think just now of all the lunches that need to be made for tomorrow sort of way. I'm almost always the one planning and preparing and setting out uniforms and packing the swimming lessons bag and the one who runs around meal planning and homework helping and the one who cringingly has to cut the poop chunk out of our cat's bum fur and it's all as it should be. But this week, I remembered that it feels so nice sometimes to flop across someone's lap and just think about nothing but how lovely it feels to have one's back scratched for a long, lazy time. That's parents. I guess it never really ends. With your parents, it's somehow ok to just revert back to being a selfish kid who doesn't feel like doing work, but who just wants to curl up on her bed reading stacks of Nancy Drews and graciously allow Mom to bring her a nice drink while she does so.
These hands always made me trust that all was well in the world.
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