Someday, when the kids are gone, there will be plenty of ice cream just for Barbara and me. I won't find the can of Hershey's chocolate on the lower shelf...empty and with a sticky bottom. We will return to a small refrigerator and eat on the antique table we used when we were first married.Cars will be clean again. The floorboard won't be covered with Sunday School papers or petrified McDonald's french fries. And gum, Legos, Matchbox cars, doll combs and even fishhooks won't be smushed into the carpet.
Doors will be shut, and I won't have to go through the house turning off every light. We won't stumble over herds of teddy bears, dolls and stuffed animals grazing or napping on the carpet.
Fewer tools will be lost. No frantic search parties at bedtime for lost blankets. Socks will miraculously find their mates, and the car keys will be right where I left them.
But of course other things will have changed, too.
When the kids are gone, we won't hear the pitter-patter of little feet running down the hallway, then feel a warm, wiggly body crawling into bed and snuggling with us early on Saturday morning.
No more little-girl, frilly Easter dresses or first days of school. No winter picnics or log cabin playhouses. No more fishing and hunting trips or wiener roasts or just goofing around with a childish hand in mine.
Someday there will be no more handmade Father's Day cards or wooden plaques titled "World's Best Mom." No more crayon drawings, verses and stick people drawn on construction paper and displayed on the refrigerator.
So until someday arrives, we're going to cherish our moments together. We're going to try to take seriously-but happily-the apostle Paul's counsel: "Making the most of your time."
Sticky or not.