One fine day as I sprinted around Super Wal-Mart in my usual fashion of running a half hour late, something curious happened.
As I was racing up and down the aisles hurling food items, milk, and Diet Cokes into my cart, I was simultaneously attempting to beep my husband to pick up our daughter across town, trying to locate my son through his cell phone to go home and shove dinner in the oven, and glaring with irritation towards the extremely long check out line. Business as usual so far.
As I rounded aisle #11, with my shopping cart practically on two wheels, I stopped dead in my tracks. Before me was a towering display of blue Kool-Aid in six-packs of plastic bottles. Colorful cartoon characters decorated the cardboard cartons which held the drinks. The faint aroma of the sweet concoction swirled around me. Rooted to the spot, I stared at the mountain of blue containers and felt a flood of memories wash over me.
The world stopped for a moment as my mind was catapulted back in time. Back to the days when I made this frantic grocery trip with two toddlers in tow, shrieking with delight as I shot through the store like a cannon in my usual whirlwind of trying to fit too much into my schedule.
Grocery day was always a special treat for my son and daughter because they were allowed to pick out their very own six-pack of Kool-Aid. And blue was their favorite. As they fought over who got to open the package, I often wished I could conjure up a nanny to watch my children at home so that I could avoid the hassle of dealing with two wriggling, loud mouthed, and sometimes whiny little creatures. My stress level was right on track with the rest of the frazzled moms I saw there.
As I continued to stand in Super Wal-Mart facing the mountain of blue Kool-Aid, something hit me. It occurred to me that now that my tykes were teenagers, I would never have their rapt attention and adoration and desire to go everywhere with me again. Never again would they excitedly point me towards the Kool-Aid aisle. Never again would they run full throttle into me to hug my legs or beg me to read them "just one more story". No more peeking out the window waiting for me to come home from work. No more pleading for piggyback rides. No more negotiations to stay up late to watch tv with me.
In fact, it has been quite awhile since our seventeen-year-old has had any exchange at all with me except to inquire what was for dinner and to beg once again to have his curfew extended. Our thirteen-year-old communicates these days mostly with hand signals, as in waving us away as she gabs on the phone.
Everyone told me that it would pass much too quickly. I didn't believe them. Actually, the thought of cooking supper without a one-year-old wrapped around me like a squirming monkey was quite intoxicating. Going on an errand without fiddling endlessly with the car seat was a special treat. The idea of not having to break up fist fights between my two little ones was way up there on my list of fantasies.
Becoming a mother at the age of twenty nine was the most intense undertaking of my entire life, and it was not always fun. I mourned the days of leisurely late night walks with my husband and two dogs, quiet dinners, and frequent trips to the movies. I wondered if I would ever get my life back.
And then one day, they grew up. It happened when I wasn't looking. Suddenly, they tower over me in height. They don't need help with their homework anymore. Their beverage of choice is now Diet Coke instead of blue Kool-Aid. Friends and sports and outings now occupy most waking moments, not parents.
When adolescence strikes, parents become the most boring and dim-witted inhabitants on the face of the earth. My babies don't need my constant attention anymore, and that makes me feel as blue as the Kool-Aid. I miss rocking my little ones to sleep and then kissing their golden curls goodnight. I miss their slobbery smooches and tight hugs with their pudgy arms around my neck. I miss cuddling in the big armchair during a bedtime story. I miss having them imagine that I could make any wrong in the entire world right again.
The season has now changed, and I must make the adjustment of returning to my life of relative leisure. But what was supposed to feel good leaves a big fat hole in my heart. I have no one to potty train, no one to read to or push in a stroller and no one to watch Bugs Bunny with.
Ah... the vision of blue Kool-Aid. It unleashed a collage of motherhood memories tucked away in my soul. Lovingly, I placed two cartons of the long forgotten beverage in my shopping cart, just for old time's sake. And just this once, I slowed down to savor thememories of those desperate, yet delicious days.