There is a woman I know. She often times speaks about her children and all the funny things they say and do. They are truly the best and most wonderful gifts she was ever bestowed. This I know to be true. But then I see her loose her patience at those same children she so claims to love. Her voice becomes harsh and quick and her eyes pulse with irritation. When she does this, a piece of my heart breaks for her. I know later she will feel the guilt only a mother knows.
There is another woman I know. She reads things in books and then relives them in her dreams. She watches documentaries and they root themselves into her heart. She feels aortic tugs when she learns about children suffering and shares these stories with her own children. There are photos on her fridge of children throughout the world. She wants her kids to know that they must always look to help others. When I hear her talk to her children, I become inspired. I want to be more like her. I want to ask her how I can help. I want her to tuck me in and tell me fantastic ways that I can make the world a better place no matter how small I am.
There is a friend I have. I work with her closely. She puts on a happy face and smiles to those she sees in the hall. She values her job and wants to do it well, but at the end of the day, and sometimes even at the beginning, I see in her eyes that she is tired. She is done. She is ready for the day to come to a close even when it is only 10:30 a.m. She is going through the motions. A carefully choreographed routine years in the making. But then I see her take a breath, stand a little taller, and soldier on. She makes me want to work harder.
There is a girl I know. She is filled with happiness and energy. When she comes to my house, she dances around the kitchen with my children. She turns the music up so loud that the bass reverberates in her hips. She picks up my daughter and spins her around and around to the tune of innocent giggles and high pitched squeals. When I see the happiness on her face, and the faces of my children, I wish she would stay. I know that for the length of that song, they are carefree and making memories. She is in love with them, and them with her.
There is a middle aged woman I know. She is not sure where the time has gone. She pours over National Geographic articles and photos wondering what life would be like if she could visit all the beautiful and terrible places in the world. Would she have a deeper appreciation for what she has? Would she find a higher purpose? Is she doing enough with her life? I dream with this woman and listen quietly to her questions.
Another friend I know plans great things for her children to do and see and learn. When she is around she is always teaching and talking. She carefully chooses her words and explains things to them. Her children are inquisitive and energetic. She keeps up with them bounding and playing, hiking and climbing. I also see that she thoroughly enjoys her time with them very much. I long to spend more time with this friend and have everyday be like a trip to the Botanical Gardens.
There is another woman I know. She is always looking to improve herself. She does her research and tries her best to do what is right for her children. She has pins and pins with the latest and greatest of menus to nourish her brood or ways to organize her house. I wish I could live in her Pinterest world. Everything would be so neat and clean, and fresh.
There is another friend I have and she looks around her house at her laundry piling up, the dust on the piano, the dirty children that need bathing, the never ending homework and school projects and she wonders is this it? She asks me, "Is this my life?" And I tell her that this is just a phase. This is just a step. This is not who you are but merely where you are right now. She listens but I know that she doesn't always believe me.
There is also an old lady who visits me. She is wise and caring, but she is often tired. Her eyes sparkle but just a little less than ten years ago. Her sighs tell me that she is easier exasperated than in her earlier years. She knows what needs to be done but often times looks at things and asks "What does it really matter in the grand scheme of things my girl?" I often think I should listen to her more.
These women. These women that I know. I know them intimately. I know them dearly. I call them friends, but really I should just call them what they really are....ME. The pieces of me all fit together to make me who I am. All the fears and failures, the fabulous days and frustrating hours. My finest attempts and my biggest flops. All rolled into one momma who is forever on the journey.
There is another woman I know. She reads things in books and then relives them in her dreams. She watches documentaries and they root themselves into her heart. She feels aortic tugs when she learns about children suffering and shares these stories with her own children. There are photos on her fridge of children throughout the world. She wants her kids to know that they must always look to help others. When I hear her talk to her children, I become inspired. I want to be more like her. I want to ask her how I can help. I want her to tuck me in and tell me fantastic ways that I can make the world a better place no matter how small I am.
There is a friend I have. I work with her closely. She puts on a happy face and smiles to those she sees in the hall. She values her job and wants to do it well, but at the end of the day, and sometimes even at the beginning, I see in her eyes that she is tired. She is done. She is ready for the day to come to a close even when it is only 10:30 a.m. She is going through the motions. A carefully choreographed routine years in the making. But then I see her take a breath, stand a little taller, and soldier on. She makes me want to work harder.
There is a girl I know. She is filled with happiness and energy. When she comes to my house, she dances around the kitchen with my children. She turns the music up so loud that the bass reverberates in her hips. She picks up my daughter and spins her around and around to the tune of innocent giggles and high pitched squeals. When I see the happiness on her face, and the faces of my children, I wish she would stay. I know that for the length of that song, they are carefree and making memories. She is in love with them, and them with her.
There is a middle aged woman I know. She is not sure where the time has gone. She pours over National Geographic articles and photos wondering what life would be like if she could visit all the beautiful and terrible places in the world. Would she have a deeper appreciation for what she has? Would she find a higher purpose? Is she doing enough with her life? I dream with this woman and listen quietly to her questions.
Another friend I know plans great things for her children to do and see and learn. When she is around she is always teaching and talking. She carefully chooses her words and explains things to them. Her children are inquisitive and energetic. She keeps up with them bounding and playing, hiking and climbing. I also see that she thoroughly enjoys her time with them very much. I long to spend more time with this friend and have everyday be like a trip to the Botanical Gardens.
There is another woman I know. She is always looking to improve herself. She does her research and tries her best to do what is right for her children. She has pins and pins with the latest and greatest of menus to nourish her brood or ways to organize her house. I wish I could live in her Pinterest world. Everything would be so neat and clean, and fresh.
There is another friend I have and she looks around her house at her laundry piling up, the dust on the piano, the dirty children that need bathing, the never ending homework and school projects and she wonders is this it? She asks me, "Is this my life?" And I tell her that this is just a phase. This is just a step. This is not who you are but merely where you are right now. She listens but I know that she doesn't always believe me.
There is also an old lady who visits me. She is wise and caring, but she is often tired. Her eyes sparkle but just a little less than ten years ago. Her sighs tell me that she is easier exasperated than in her earlier years. She knows what needs to be done but often times looks at things and asks "What does it really matter in the grand scheme of things my girl?" I often think I should listen to her more.
These women. These women that I know. I know them intimately. I know them dearly. I call them friends, but really I should just call them what they really are....ME. The pieces of me all fit together to make me who I am. All the fears and failures, the fabulous days and frustrating hours. My finest attempts and my biggest flops. All rolled into one momma who is forever on the journey.
Interesting. I missed the woman with no child.
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