I have been someone's mother for twenty-five years. Twenty-five years
, I tell you, is a very long time to be concerned about feeding and sleeping and clothing and caring and worrying. It's a long time to plan for schoolbooks and schedules and trunks and trains and owls and rats. It's a long time to be preoccupied with first romances and tender hearts and broken friendships. It's a long time to celebrate honours and victories and mourn defeats and losses. It's a long time to worry about helping your loved ones find their places and find their jobs and find their homes and find their partners and find themselves. And it's a very, very
long time to wait to plan another wedding and spoil your first grandchild.
Happy birthday, Bill. I'm proud of the man you've grown to be.
Congratulations, Arthur - we've made it this far. Please come home early for supper to celebrate with me.
Current Mood: happy