Kids who love me.

I guess all any of us wants is for our kids to love us.  I suppose it would be nice if they didn’t take over a school with firearms, or make history for anything that involved an ax or some part of their body that should, by rights, be covered most of the time.  But aside from that, I think I would like them to like me as much as I like them someday.  Once, when Andra and I were talking about her growing up and leaving me, she gently stroked my hair and told me “I will come visit you alot, Mom.  I promise.”   That’s good enough for me.

Today, I was talking to Grace about going to summer camp and whether she would be worried if she was away from me for a whole week.  After the little joy at the prospect bubbled up from her insides in a shrieky little giggle, she said “I won’t miss you!  I dream about leaving you all the time, and for much longer than that!” 

It is such a toss up.  I want them to be independent and ok with their own company, but it would be nice for them to miss something about me besides my bankroll.  I suppose, to some extent, it is all payback for the years I spent snubbing my own mother, turning away from her hugs, and trying desperately to move out of the house.  The only difference was that I was eighteen when I did it.  For the record, I DID miss you when I went to summer camp, Mom.  I am sorry I didn’t let you hug me, and for all those nasty things I said when I wanted to move out.  And, in case you just wanted the same thing from me that I want from my kids, I hope you know I love you. 

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