Come home from work. Rush to do the things you want to do. Rush to do the things you have to do. Basketball, horse back riding, martial arts, bicycle ride, chores, grocery shopping, laundry, prep for everything that goes on inside and outside of the house.
Set the table.
Rush to clean. Rush to do homework. Rush to be able to sit down and relax. Just for a minute.
One more time. What I would so gladly pay to have one of those thousands of family dinners with my children. Spaghetti. Roast. Meatloaf. Pizza. Tomato soup and peanut butter sandwiches. Cheeseburgers. Tacos. How was school? It was the worst day ever! She spilled something on her shirt so she had to change it mid-meal. She had to pick out every onion or pepper or seasoning she could see. She got mad when we said grace too fast. She got mad when we teased her about how slow she eats. School news. Work news. Teaching moments. Teaching moments thrown back at me. Mom, you choose to have a headache.
One more time.
I don’t remember the last time because I didn’t know it would be the last time.
But I remember many of them.
And I know missing them.