Mama Bear

Yesterday my mom stopped by. Just to visit. Really, visit. Or chat.

While we were talking on the couch, me at one end with my feet next to her hip and her with her feet tucked up, my kids gathered around us. Chuggy was napping, and the others had been in the basement playing. Until they heard grandma. One by one, up the stairs they came. To visit.

First Simon. He had to stick his wiry little body right between the two of us. And listen, and add comments, and listen some more. Then Samuel, he had to hog mom. So he pushed Si, just a bit toward grandma, and interrupt everyone. Telling us all of fascinating places and animals. (Did I mention he just won his class geography bee, and went on to the school finals? Well he did. And it was perfect for him.) Then Roo appeared and had to snuggle up on the other side of me, laying her head on mine and twiddling my hair. More listening, and telling of stories from each of them.

Then off hopped Simon to get something. Followed by Samuel. Return of both. Then Roo off to get her stuffed animals to suck her thumb. (Remember how I 'weaned' her, by getting rid of her blankie? Ha! She had other tricks up her sleeve!) Anyway....they were up and down, cuddling, snuggling, wrestling, up down, in out. All of them, giving me pats of love, playing with my hair, rubbing my leg.

I love them.

It really is like being a mama bear. My cubs like to be where I am. I know it's these times people speak of when I am constantly told, "Enjoy this. It will be gone before you know it."

And I do know it.

But of course, as I imagine all mama bears do. I'd had enough of their up and down, and said, "Okay. Time to go outside! Get your coats, boots, and hats on and be gone!"

Off they went.

About 28 seconds later they were in begging for hot cocoa. Which I didn't want to do. But Grandma got up to get it, which meant I had to get up. Which meant Chugs was up. Which meant hot cocoa was to be served. With whip cream, of course!

And today, the mama bear came out again. Not in the nice way either. When the big one threatened the smaller one, I came unglued. Just like a mama cub. And let him have it. (Verbally, that is. No ripping arms off, or dragging kids around by their heads or anything)

Anyway. Being a mama bear is hard. And wonderful. And fun. And full of tears. And filled with laughter. And I love it.

Now. What does a mama bear do when her babies are all grown up? Move to a fishing hole with a view? My mama bear lives just down the road. And that's how I like it. What will I do? Where will my cubs be? Hmmm. Still a ways off I suppose.