It's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have...One pair that see through closed doors. Another in the back of her head...and, of course, the ones in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and reflect 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word.
Maybe age is kinder to us than we think. With my bad eyes, I can't see how bad I look, and with my rotten memory, I have a good excuse for getting out of a lot of stuff.
If I raised my hand to wipe the hair out of my children's eyes, they'd flinch and call their attorney.
You become about as exciting as your food blender. The kids come in, look you in the eye, and ask if anybody's home.
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