Jewish World Review March 5, 2004 / 12 Adar, 5764
Sometimes wishes do come true, even for grown-ups
Things that don't seem very fun when you're a kid, have a way of
looking inviting once you're an adult. Take being sent to your room.
For the past week, I've been hoping someone would send me to my
room. I have rudely interrupted others when talking, rolled my eyes at two
of my kids and taken phone calls smack in the middle of dinner. you'd think
somebody would have gotten annoyed and suggested I go to my room for some
"You better think about it" time.
But no. Not a single, "knock it off." Not one solitary, "You
better watch yourself, missy," or a "that'll be enough out of you." Haven't
these people learned anything from me?
I'd love to be sent to my room, not just for the things that are
in there - a television, a telephone, a half dozen magazines, four books
and reading glasses - but for the things that are not. There's no vacuum
cleaner in my room. There's no computer, stove, refrigerator, washer, dryer
or ironing board.
Best of all, there's no car in my room. That means I couldn't pick
anybody up, drop anybody off, swing by the dry cleaner, stop off at the
grocery or dash to the mall.
Being sent to your room is an event completely wasted on kids.
It's something only mature adults can fully appreciate.
There's something else wasted on kids. Naps. Kids hate naps. What
kid hasn't tried to fake out a parent? I used to count to 20, put a little
spit in the corner of my eyes and come out of my room stretching my arms
like Rip van Winkle. If there had been an Anti-Nap Defense League, I would
have given my Barbie doll's last pair of stiletto heels to join.
Naps can be enjoyable when you're an adult, but by then you're too
old to admit you take them.
Hands down, the most fantastic thing that happens to you as a kid,
that rarely happens to you as an adult, has to be snow days. Seeing your
school's name scroll across the bottom of the television, hearing the DJ
announce it on the radio, is your birthday, the circus, Christmas and a
little brown pony rolled into one.
As an adult, you may stand around uncombed, unwashed and unhappy
in your bathrobe waiting to see if maybe, just maybe, your company's name
is going to crawl by on the television screen, but I can tell you now, it
ain't gonna happen. Your kids may be delirious with excitement, doing back
flips and bouncing off the walls, but not you. Nope. There's no justice.
Hit the shower.
The most gentle delight of all, underappreciated by kids, is being
tucked in at night. Having someone pull the covers up, chat with you, sing
a song, kiss your cheek, turn out the lights and close the door, is beyond
nice. When you can finally appreciate that as a luxury, you're so old that
your bedtime routine consists of unloading the dishwasher, taking out the
trash, folding a load of towels, paying a few bills, seeing that the front
door is locked and that the cars are in the garage.
This is not to say that kids get all the breaks. Sometimes wishes
do come true, even for grown-ups. Just last night, I faintly heard a voice
"Mom, maybe you should go to your room." I had fallen asleep on the couch.
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© 2001, Lori Borgman
JWR contributor Lori Borgman is the author of I Was a Better Mother Before I Had Kids and "Pass the Faith, Please" (Click HERE to purchase. Sales help fund JWR.). To comment, please click here. To visit her website click here.
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