COME TO THE FEAST

Raising a child is an interesting journey. When they are very young, everything is easy. You are the center of attention. They adore you. You have all the answers. You are their hero. Then, things start changing as they get a mind of their own. Start thinking for themselves. Don't always see things your way. You're not always so smart. They grow up, and let you know in no uncertain terms they are no longer a child. They are now an adult. Well, most of the time anyway. At least until they get sick. At my house anyway. And then, it's "mommy" time again.

I was out of town last week. My daughter was sick. She wanted me to come home. To take care of her. Never mind that she has made it clear to me that she is 22 years old and an adult. She was sick and needed her Mommy. I was out of town a couple of days this week. I had drifted off to sleep. My phone rang. It was my daughter. "You didn't call us." I had seen her that morning. But it was bedtime. And I wasn't home. Mommies are supposed to be home at night - no matter how old their children are. It kinda gives you a warm fuzzy feeling inside. No matter how old you are.