Law-dee, I’m turning into my father! I am, and he was the sweetest man that ever lived, but it’s not the sweetness, it’s the, oh how do I put this, it’s the inability to eat any type of food without getting it on me, that is making me think I’m so much like him. The poor man had stains on all of his ties, all of his shirts, he couldn’t eat anything without getting food on him!
I had just a smear of jam this morning on my toast, just a itsy bitsy miniscule smear of cherry jam, and yep, somehow it ended up on my shirt. This is happening with alarming frequency, I’m getting food all over me. Dilly, you quit smiling, I know, I always get stuff on me, but lately it’s been every meal.
My boys laugh at me all the time, teasing me about getting old, and then I remind them that I was a young mother, I was twenty-one and twenty-five when they were born, and that they aren’t that far behind me. I think it’s a shock sometimes, they think about babies in your thirties but not me. Oh, I was just a couple of months away from being twenty-two when John was born, almost twenty-six when I had Ry but that’s young by today’s standards.
And if I could do it over? I think I would rather have been older. I would have been wiser, with more life experience to guide me. But then I wouldn’t have the energy that I had in my twenties either.
So now that I’m a friggin’ genius with almost sixty-one years of life experience, let’s see what kind of wisdom I bestow on poor Abby. Undoubtedly just the ability to eat and make a mess of it, that will probably be my legacy to poor bebe granddaughter…
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