The picture said it all.
Two little brothers playing with bubbles.
The bubbles floated all around them.
They were hugging; laughing with pure joy.

Something so simple became pure entertainment.
It reminded me of the old refrigerator boxes that transformed into a house.
Weeks of play in a cardboard box.
Elegant doors that flapped open; windows that were adorned with marker drawn curtains.

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For those of us with adult children, it is particularly delightful when they come over.
It is a time of sharing hearts and catching up.
It is a time of listening to dreams and seeing glimmers of those dreams on the horizon.
It is familiarity at its best.

Gone are the days of bandaging knees.
Gone are the days of snacks in special bowls and juice in favorite cups.
Now those knees are ones you kneel on to pray for those adult children.
Now those sippy cups have become favorite mugs to enjoy a cup of tea and conversation.

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It was a preschool field trip.
A busload of four-year old children and some parent volunteers.
One of those volunteers would be me.
I was very anxious to spend the day with my youngest child.

If your parent went on the bus with you, you were able to sit with them.
If a child did not have a parent with them, they could be assigned to you.
That day, there were enough volunteers, so my daughter and I were together.
We were going to a beautiful public garden.

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In the days of the one room schoolhouse, education was much more rigorous than today.
Just look at The Original Blue Back Speller and peruse the spelling lists.
I wonder if many high school students could spell and define most of those words.
McGuffey readers were also used, beginning in the mid 19th century.

The readers became progressively more challenging as you went to the next level.
The readers at the advance level contained essays from well known writers.
American writers such as John Milton, Lord Byron, and Daniel Webster.
The readers emphasized spelling, vocabulary, and formal public speaking.

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Our Philadelphia 76ers are one loss away from matching a record.
The record is the longest losing streak in NBA history.
I am not an avid sports fan, but I do pay attention to my hometown teams.
I cannot listen to the news on the radio without the constant reminder of their losses.

I am sure there are armchair basketball fans that have figured out the reasons why.
I am sure those same armchair fans think they could do a better job of coaching.
It is easy to point a finger from the sidelines.
It is easy to assign blame.

What about that old self-fulfilling prophecy?

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We had been married six years at the time.
We had two beautiful daughters and hoped for more children as well.
I remember the day I found out.
Another baby was on the way.

You always keep that news to yourself for a while.
It is the secret that only you and your husband know.
Three months, the safe number, the time when you can begin to share the news.

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There are five file boxes on a shelf in my closet.
Each one is a different color.
Each one has manila folders inside.
The boxes belong to each of my five children.

The Mom Box.

All through their school years, our refrigerator resembled an art gallery.
Magnets holding treasured artwork.
Magnetic letters to help the blossoming reader in the family.
Tests and papers the children were proud to display.

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I’m going to bed, the wife announced, though no one was in the room at the time.
She looked at the clock; it was 10:00.
How nice to be in bed a little earlier than usual.
The morning comes much too soon.

She turned off the lights in the family room.
Her husband was still in his office, so she didn’t go in to turn those lights off.
She turned off the spotlight that illuminates the driveway.
She turned off the other outside lights that are at each door.

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I watched them in the grocery store.
Wrinkled skin, posture less than straight, gait a little slower.
He was pushing the cart while she held on.

Do we need cereal? What is the kind I like that comes in the orange box?
She answered something unrecognizable and he kept talking and asking her questions.
She was taking a long time to process what he was asking her.

He didn’t mind; he seemed used to this.
He was the one doing the shopping.
She just came along; an outing.

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I went to my favorite country store over the weekend.
The store where I buy my favorite candles.
The store that has homespun fabric, country signs, and accents.
There it was.

I have had my eye on this for a couple of years now.
It has changed location in the store, but it is still there.
I walked up to look at it like I do every time.

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