I drove up to Canaan Valley last weekend; the colors in the mountains were just beginning. I love the fall, the glorious riot of colors makes me sing and laugh with joy. (People driving alongside of me must think I’m crazy!) I want to go out in a blaze of glory, too. As I go through the autumn season of my life, I pray I will reflect the colors of my life as beautifully as nature does. Each season has its own unique pleasures, so I have learned to embrace each one.
How often we as moms says: “Oh, I can’t wait until she is toilet trained,” or: “Boy, it will be a relief when he can sit up by himself.” We wish their little seasons go by quickly. And I can tell you what it is like when the last one drives down the road with his U-Haul packed. Believe me, it won’t be long.
I wish I had been of the nature and ability to scrapbook. I love this new creative life record you moms are making. I have boxes full of photos, but very little in order. (And to put them in order will drive me insane!) Joe and I are going to go through them when he retires, just set up tables and go to it, together—at least we promise ourselves we will do that.
I hold so many pictures in my heart: a little black, curled beauty rolling down the levy in New Orleans, a blond tyke trying to stand on his daddy’s shoulders to see the choo-choo, a curly headed blondy with an earnest expression pedaling madly on his John Deere tractor, a shyly grinning girl hugging her baby brother close to her, a proud trombonist leading the high school band to win the trophy in Washington D.C.’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade . . . . Oh, so many pictures in my heart.
Today, when you go home, just look at them when they are unaware. Take a mental photograph, remember them in your heart. Enjoy them in the springtime of their lives. This age is tough, but transient, even fleeting. Play with them. Dance with them. Laugh with them. Listen to them. Tell them how wonderful they are, how unique and special. Lie down with them. Hold hands and run across the grass—come on, if you can’t do that, you are too busy. Remember, mothering is a proud profession!
Bless you, Moms, nothing replaces a mother.
Charlotte Snead
Mentor Mom