Bittersweet Mother's Day

This is the first Mother's Day I've celebrated as an "empty nester," and let me just say...it's not the same.

I'm delighted my kids have grown up to be loving, wonderful, responsible adults, but oh, I miss having them around!

I've heard some writers say that they tell their kids not to interrupt them when they're writing unless they (the kids) are bleeding. I never minded when my kids interrupted me. I wanted them to feel they could talk to me at any time, about anything, because I could foresee a time when they might want to talk to me about something, then think, "Why bother? She's busy. And I'm not bleeding."

I did NOT want that to happen.

Which isn't to say they didn't appreciate that my work was important to me and had to be done. They could see me working with furrowed brow, during the day and at night. They were around when work arrived that had to be done so quickly, it meant a call to "our military friend" (Col. Sanders) or "our Swiss friends" (the Swiss Chalet) for dinner. They knew Mom didn't go on walks to the park some days because she had writing to do. And they certainly knew our house wasn't spotless because, well, I'd rather be writing. Or reading to them. Or listening as they told me whatever was on their mind.

But you know what? I never had to tell my kids to do their homework. They saw me do mine, with nary a boss or teacher in sight. They knew if I didn't do my work well and on time, there would be no checks in the mail.

Yet they also knew they, and my husband, are my top priority. Not a book. Not the writing. They are, and always will be. And I wouldn't change that for anything.