I heard them talking.
We were all in the public bathroom at the store with the bulls eye on the front.
I knew that the young mother was hoping to use the large handicap stall, but it was occupied.
Those larger stalls are such a blessing to mothers with small children.

I could hear the mother and her young child talking as I was at the sink.
I climb under there, Mommy!
No, don’t climb under there! The mother said with exasperation.
Why?

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The date was set.
I knew that two of my daughters were planning to participate.
I learned that my son-in-love was also joining in that morning.
I decided to register as well.

I registered for a 5K Walk/Run to support our local crisis pregnancy center.
A walk had been done a previous year in another location.
However, this year it was expanded to be a run as well.
It was moved to a more central location.

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I remember the night like it was yesterday.
We had four of our five children at the time.
It was the days of early baths and bedtimes.
It was the days of leisurely time alone with my husband.

Time alone to read or watch a movie together.
Time alone to have a cup of tea.
I remember the night we heard little footsteps in the kitchen.
Our second child, a daughter, was standing next to me as I sat on the sofa with my feet up.

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A Hobby Lobby store opened nearby.
It is a store where I can always find something unique.
It is another store to add to my list of favorites.
I was just there with my youngest daughter before she went back to college.

A few days later I was back again, by myself this time.
When I was with my daughter, I simply browsed.
I stopped at the section where all the wooden signs are found.
There was one sign that caught my eye.

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I remember hearing a story once that made me laugh.
A husband came home to find the house in disarray.
Toys were all over the yard and the driveway.
Toys were strewn all over the floor inside the house as well.

His children were still in their pajamas.
Goldfish crackers and Cheerios were sprinkled everywhere the toddler had walked.
Half filled cups of milk and juice were sitting in what looked to be permanent rings on the table.
The kitchen appeared to be a war zone with evidence that the children made their own lunch.

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There is a word that bothers me.
As an adjective, its meaning is fine.
As an adverb, its meaning perturbs me.
It is used far too often as an adverb.

It is the word, just.
As an adjective, just means: guided by truth, reason, justice, and fairness.
Its second definition is: done or made according to principle; equitable, proper.
Its third definition is: based on right; rightful; lawful.

It is the definition as an adverb that I have trouble with.

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I picked one of the hottest days to go into the attic.
My son, who is a lawyer in Washington, DC, asked me to look for something.
It was something from his childhood that he was wondering if we still had tucked away.
Do you think we gave it away or do we still have them? he asked me in a text message.

I was never the one to throw away old toys but we did give them away.
This son gave away his favorite Playskool garage when he decided he had grown too old for it.
Are you sure? I asked him at the time.
I’m positive, he answered.

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I remember when my children were learning to walk.
They would pull themselves up and sidestep along the sofa or the coffee table.
They were quite mobile as they did their little sideways dance.
It was letting go that was the problem.

I would watch them reach precariously from one piece of furniture to the next.
In the reaching, they could easily tumble and fall.
They did everything in their power to hold on.
Somehow they managed to get where they needed to be with this calculated path.

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This post was originally published in August, 2014.

Ask any mother and she will tell you about the preciousness of a few minutes alone.
Alone just to gather your thoughts.
Alone to grab a shower in peace.
Alone to have a cup of tea and read a paragraph in a book uninterrupted.

Alone does not mean instead of being with her children.
Alone does not mean trading in motherhood for her single life again.
Alone does not mean that she loves her family any less.
Alone simply means stillness in the midst of busyness.

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A young mother spent the days at home with her small children.
Some days were simply delightful.
She played with them, read to them, and trained them.
Some days were difficult and exhausting when nothing seemed to go right.

Remnants of breakfast were on the floor under the high chair.
Jelly was stuck in the two year old’s hair.
As the sun shone through the glass storm door, she could see every hand print.
She could see every nose print and little forehead marks pressed upon the glass.

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