Bowl of Cherries

I loved Erma Bombeck when I was a teenager.  My Aunt Kathy had all of her books and  I borrowed each and every one of them.  It didn’t matter that Erma’s target audience was women my mother’s age, I loved her humor and insight into family life.  Even her book titles were awesome, like  If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits? and Family—The Ties That Bind… And Gag!   I keep telling myself I will check all of her books out of the library and reread them, but somehow the pile of books waiting for me on my nightstand still hasn’t gone down enough to allow me to indulge in an old favorite.

A little while ago, Sarah from Clover Lane shared this essay by Erma Bombeck, probably written for one of her newspaper columns.  I couldn’t get through it without damp eyes, and I dare you to try to do it too.  I printed it out, and keep it handy because I pull it out and read it on those days that the natives are wearing me down (and that’s happening a lot more frequently as summer is wearing on!)  It reminds me that I do need to appreciate every second I’ve got.

Erma’s column: 

A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you?"
OK.
One of these days, you'll shout, "Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!"
And they will.

Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do ... and don't slam the door!"
And they won't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way."
And it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company."
And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?" And you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.
No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.
No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.
No more clothespins under the sofa.
No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.
No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.
No more iron-on patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. No baby sitter for New Year's Eve. Washing only once a week. Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings.
No car pools.
No blaring radios.
No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.
Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.
No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.
No more tooth fairy.
No giggles in the dark.
No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?"
and the silence echoing, "I did."