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Perhaps it’s because my oldest just got home from his second year at college. Perhaps it’s because last week my middle son turned seventeen. That I can hardly believe. Or maybe it’s because this week is Mother’s Day. Whatever the reason, I’m feeling quite nostalgic.

The other day I was remembering when the kids were young. Back then, they thought I was smart. (Those days are gone.) My children used to look at me as more than an ATM. They thought I was funny. Ok, so my jokes are only funny to young children, but I once made milk come out of my son’s nose. They didn’t used to say I was old back then, and I also wasn’t carrying the weight of an extra person around my waistline. I saw a picture of myself at a resent family event and wondered why no one was trying to free me from my holding tank.

Whatever the reason, old memories of times now long gone started coming to mind. Like when our oldest couldn’t walk very far, so I would carry him on my shoulders. I even fell once and broke my ankle, because as we fell I pulled him on top of me so he wouldn’t get hurt.  One time I got too far ahead of the rest of the family and some friends when we were riding our ATV’s.  When my oldest and I realized everyone else had stopped we turned back. When we found the others, the look on my younger son’s face was priceless. He had launched his ATV off the road and wedged it between a boulder and a tree. He was so shaken that we put him on the back of someone else’s ATV and let one of our friends drive his. And lest you think all my memories are of accidents, there was the time I took my daughter to the father-daughter dance at our local YMCA. She was so excited; she smiled the whole night.