\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1305617-The-Oatmeal-Pan
Item Icon
\"Reading Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: E · Article · Family · #1305617
This article is my gift to young moms.
The Oatmeal Pan

My husband and I have a little cabin a ways from home where weekends are sometimes spent to secure some much needed solitude. The old family pots, pans and dishes live there, and something happened today that needed to be put into print.

I washed the oatmeal pan. That’s all, really. But as my eyes rested on that pan, as my fingers smoothed the running water over it, as the sponge gently rubbed away the little bit of oatmeal from breakfast, it happened. The smell of peanut butter, the clink of spoons, and the little voices filled the cabin kitchen. Suddenly it was a winter morning long ago, and breakfast was ready.  The children were there, dressed for school, buttering toast, and kidding around with each other. I was dishing up the oatmeal from this very pan; another day, another morning, just another school day, and some oatmeal with peanut butter and honey; and the kids. In a moment at the cabin sink, I remembered it all. How I miss the children! How I miss those days!

They went by so fast. It didn’t seem like it then. 'Drudgery' might have described the mood at times; but I tell you, the days flew away. Now the lonely old pan reminds me and I wish I could go back there and spend more time with them. I was busy being a teacher, you see. Oh, I made the oatmeal, and did the dishes. I even helped with homework a bit and drove to the store. But the real thrust of my life was the quest for success in my endeavors. Teaching fulfilled my need for significance, and I loved it. I even got to teach my own children in our private school! What could be better?

But there wasn’t enough time pushing on the swings and playing monopoly. We didn’t read enough long stories or just sit and color or visit together. It seems we were always pressed by a schedule. How I wish I could do it again. It would not be so important that my life was fulfilled if I could just do it again. I probably would not have been a teacher if I could go back and do it again. In the morning I would have kissed them good-bye and spent the day making them cookies, washing their clothes, and fluffing their pillows. Yes, I would treasure motherhood more, if I could just go back and do it over. All that would matter to me would be their spiritual growth, their health and nutrition, and their growing individual interests and ideas.  I would listen so much more, and be available and relaxed when they needed me.

Somehow, though, women in their twenties and thirties, and even forties tend to focus on themselves and their own significance within the group to which they belong. They want to be liked. They want to have impact. They want their children dressed neatly and on their best behavior (and that is a good thing!). They want to really be somebody. But I was somebody! To three beautiful beings I was Mom. Why wasn’t that enough of an impact? Why were the hours full of my intent instead of theirs? If only I could have seen that oatmeal pan 20 years later and felt the pain just once back then that I felt today; perhaps things would have been different.

So now, the best I can hope for is that somehow these words will reach a young mother with darlings at her table. Perhaps if I can convey these feelings passionately enough she will refocus her days and purpose to treasure each hour as a mother. Those hours really do take wings, dear sisters. One day you will be amazed that the children have moved out and the house is quiet. You will wonder what happened to those last twenty years, and you will paw through pictures trying to recreate the fading memories.

If I could do it again, honestly, I would! And this time, I would do it better. This time I would do it for them more than for me, because now that it is too late; now that they have lives of their own that seldom involve me; now that their childhood dreams are coming true; now…whatever I have become doesn’t even matter. Now I just have an old oatmeal pan to trigger memories of hurried mornings in a too-busy life and little children all grown up and gone.

But hey, it is surely not all regrets and tears! Not by a long shot! Because there was a reason I was washing that oatmeal pan today…my dear husband and I had oatmeal for breakfast, in our little cabin, together!  And of all the joys and dreams, regrets and failures of yesterday or today, living with this amazing man, the father of my children is truly the greatest reward and fulfillment in my life! But my message is simple: life is short, children grow up way too fast, and nothing matters more than being their Mom. Nothing! And while you're at it, make some oatmeal and love their Daddy!
© Copyright 2007 MeggieBethRue (meggiebethrue at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1305617-The-Oatmeal-Pan