When my five children were growing up I told them - daily, hourly, constantly - what to do and what not to do. Mostly, they followed orders. Sometimes, they didn't.
Today, I find myself bossing adult children. They're the only kind I've got left. Occasionally, they follow instructions. Mostly, they don't.
What makes me mad is when I tell them to do a thing, and they do it, and then I discover I didn't want them to do it after all.
For instance: I kept five folders, filled with their childhood pictures, stored safely in a box I hadn't opened for years. Two summers ago, three daughters were here visiting ... digging through my stuff ... (some things never change) ... and I told them they could each take their stack of pictures home.
They asked, with mock concern, if I was "breaking up" with them. Then, those three girls who rarely paid attention to anything I said ... those girls who seldom followed my simplest requests ... those rotten-little-girls-grown-big loaded up their snapshots and hauled them out of here.
A short time later my granddaughter, Erin, taught me to blog.
Then, Carmen gave step-by-step directions for including pictures with my blogs, and, suddenly, I needed those old pictures back again. I didn't mean to give them away.
Too late.
They were gone.
Five days ago I drove myself crazy trying to find a picture of Patti, age six, dressed like a little German girl. She looked like a doll. (Mag sie auch noch so schoen sein.)
The picture couldn't be found.
Today, I've searched high and low for a photograph of Honey Gail, made when she was nine. In the picture, she's wearing a pale yellow dress. Her hair is pulled up with ribbons. Her eyes are sparkling. Her smile is sweet.
I want that picture. It's mine. It has always been mine. Where is it?
Gone ...
2 comments:
I'm looking for my folder!
Hey Jonelle.....thanks for reading my blog, it is an honor to have you read it! Isn't this fun?: I have enjoyed yours also, keep in touch! Rose
Post a Comment