Kids are like farts. You only like your own.

Chief Washakie once said, “Sometimes when you are young and full of life you do things that you might not do later in life.” To me the best example of that would be motherhood. There’s a reason God puts women’s reproductive years early in life. I’m absolutely certain if given a baby in midlife, we’d forget them in the grocery cart and be called back frequently by a huffy store manager. And not only does our memory get sketchy, but we get tired quicker. I remember after cleaning, cooking, baking, sewing, ironing, running a daycare and doing books for our businesses all day, I’d find myself sitting through hours of basketball, football or volleyball games, track or swim meets and 4H or scout meetings. Sometimes I’d be weary and think ahead to how good it would feel to get home, shower and crawl into bed with a book. For the most part though, I found great joy in being a part of whatever our offspring were doing. Happily, Gar was right there beside me after putting in 10- to 12-hour days in the hot sun or freezing cold. We both prioritized our children and their lives, which is why it’s so puzzling that after all that love and devotion and sacrifice bestowed upon them, they grew up, got married and are raising our grand babies in far-away states. The ungrateful turds.

Young orangutans stay with their mothers up to 10 years so she can teach them social and survival skills. My children stayed with me for 18, but I’m not ever going to boast about how I instructed them with useful skills. I’ve always said it’s a good thing my kids are bright because I never taught them anything on purpose. Sure, there was the ingenuity of how to lick the cookie dough off the beaters but we’re not supposed to do that with the raw egg scare. Will DFS come for me now? And I wouldn’t want a reporter quizzing my offspring about any social skills they gleaned from me. My kids would raise their eyebrows, roll their eyes and shake their heads. And rightly so. They know they got everything worthy from their dad, and without his mathematical brain, what would have happened to those babies? Oh, Lord it makes a mother shudder to think.

There are a thousand books written on raising children, but none on what to do with the ongoing, everlasting grief of the empty nest. Gar and I miss those kids of ours so much. I often text them to say, “We’re having sourdough pancakes and bacon and eggs for breakfast. Come on over!” Sometimes I’ll write, “We’re making chili for supper with fresh cornbread and green salad. If you want to drop by, we’ll feed you for free. We’ll throw in some sour cream, tortilla chips and cheese and I’ll make Grammy’s Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cake as the cherry on top.”  I try to remember to add, “I mean, it’s me at the stove so I understand there’ll be a bit of natural apprehension, but be brave.” They never come when I text. They say it’s because they live two, four, five and six states away. I think it’s the food poisoning thing, but it’s only happened a few times. Gosh, they have good memories.

It’s a joy watching our grand babies now. They’re fun and clever and Gar and I get a lot of laughs from their antics. One day while in Texas, Avy was helping me rearrange the camper when she noticed the stereo speaker on the ceiling. Pointing to it she asked, “Grammy, is that your Google?” That afternoon, Avy and her twin sister, Pen were swinging in the 104-degree heat when a cloud came along. Pen said, “Grammy, it got cold.”

I agreed, “Ya, a cloud covered the sun.”

She laughed, “What a ‘gweat’ idea.”

That night we ate dinner at a restaurant, and as we finished the meal, the waitress brought two large handfuls of chocolate mints. Pen excitedly chirped, “Thank you!”

The server smiled, “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

Giggling, Pen joked, “You could bring more of those.”

The waitress left and dutifully came right back with another handful. I was stunned and turned to my daughter-in-law, Gelly, “Oh my gosh, Pen told the waitress she could bring more mints and she did.”

With lips pursed in a mirthless line Gelly dryly replied, “I’ll bet she’s not a mother.” Happy Mom’s Day.