Last week I compared Emerson and Ellie to perpetual toddlers, needy little creatures who would never learn to fend for themselves. Unlike my own daughters, now embracing college life away from home, my sweet goatbabies will forever be dependent on me to meet all their needs. Feed us, walk us, save us from the rain - this will never change. Unfortunately, the goats misinterpreted this as criticism, and now they are working diligently to assert their independence. First, Elliot learned to open the fence gate with his nose (Hey, we can let ourselves out now!) and then those rascals started finding their own food. My husband recently picked a large watermelon from the garden and brought it up to the deck, forgetting that this fruit is a caprine delicacy. So quick they leapt up and rolled the melon off the outside table...Smash! So yummy! And it even broke into two halves - one for each of us! Don't bother chopping apples today, mommy, we got our own snack.
Ahh...snacks. Before sending my daughters off to college, I took them grocery shopping for snacks to take along. It was a fun "mother-daughters" outing with no restrictions. (I even bought six cartons of ice cream for myself!) In farewell notes I wrote for them, I told them how much I'd miss trips like this, as well as things like Megan's two-foot high stack of books in the living room, and how Emily always asked me for help finding just the right words as she typed essays on her laptop in the kitchen. I tried to focus on the positive aspects of their new adventure, stoic and dry-eyed even at the infamous "cry-and-bye" candlelight ceremony as we left them on campus, shedding no tears all that next week - until I once again entered our local market and found myself confronted with all my girls' favorite foods, aisle after aisle of treats I now had no reason to buy. A week's worth of tears flowed freely as I numbly filled my cart with bread and milk and eggs, smaller portions now for just two of us. I may have filled the cupboards, but the house is still so empty...
Monday night I was woken by a harsh jangling sound - the telephone? Fumbling in the dark for the receiver, I glanced at my alarm clock - after midnight! Now in full panic mode, I managed a stuttered "hello?" as I pushed myself upright. The voice which greeted me was cheerful - and strangely familiar.
"Hi Mom, this is Emily."
Instantly the innate "Mom-to-the-Rescue" response was activated, my senses on full alert. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" Phone in one hand, I was already reaching for the car keys (hospital? police station?) as she continued.
"Well, I'm writing an essay, and I just can't think of the right word for my conclusion. Can I read you the sentence? It's due in the morning."
I turned my disapproving alarm clock toward the wall and closed my eyes as she read aloud. In a dance so familiar, we struggled together for the word she sought - conundrum? quandary? dissonance? - but this was not our night and finally I left her with a poor substitute and the reassurance that the professor wouldn't notice. And yet...It was about an hour later that the elusive word emerged from the depths of my groggy brain. I crawled from my bed to text her, knowing she could still make the correction before her morning class.
Her response on my screen is one I'll never delete - "THAT'S THE WORD!!!!!!!!!"
How fortunate that our children need us for more than snacks. (Goats, on the other hand...)
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