Sweet!

Isn’t that sweet! I putter in the kitchen while my sons and their families splash in the spa and frolic in the yard.

Shrieks of joy and whoops of laughter make me smile as I wipe down the kitchen counters. Children streak in and out of my line of sight. The backyard is a blur of motion.

My older son holds a broom and the younger sprays the hose at something I can’t see. They’re cleaning up for their old mom! I guess they do love me.

“Don’t go out there,” one daughter-in-law says as she carries the youngest to the bathroom.

I cock my head, unsure if it’s a warning or a prelude to a surprise. Why shouldn’t I go in the yard?

“It’s not my fault!” one of my grandsons says as he rushes into the house. What is not his fault?

I peer at my sons, who grimace as they spray and sweep.

Another grandson stomps into the house. “I didn’t do anything!” he says over his shoulder.

I open the door and peer out, which makes my sons stand up and close ranks. “It’s fine, Mom, don’t worry!” the younger one says. They both motion for me to turn around.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

I close the door as my DIL returns with the youngest. She frowns and shakes her head as she walks into the yard. The dogs slink into the house as she opens the door.

I close my eyes and try to think about rainbows and kittens.

My sons walk into the house, splattered with mud and water. They bow their heads and hurry to wash their hands in the kitchen sink.

I step into the yard, and except for scattered toys and splashes of water, it seems pretty much intact. I stand for a moment and see traces of mud on the patio chairs and the edge of the pool. Several shrubs are shredded.

I squint and turn around as my sons scurry toward me. They are smiling the way they did when I caught them taping army men to firecrackers. “See, it’s fine,” they say.

I smile. My sons were not doing chores for their old mother. They are still afraid of their old mother.

Now, that is sweet.