I Think I Met A Wise Woman. . .

Wednesday morning I had a long list of things I hoped to get done and so we were up and at ’em bright and early.  At about 8:30 a.m. I pulled my car into the parking lot of the grocery store, climbed out of the car and quickly unloaded Meadow from her car seat.  After I closed the car door, I put her down beside me and reached down for her to grasp my finger.  We began our leisurely walk (because leisurely is the only way toddlers walk) into the store.  After about eight steps Meadow began tugging her arm in an attempt to squirm out of my grasp, at which point I bent down and picked her up to speed up the process.

Once inside I reached for the first cart which seemed glued to its cart-friends and unwilling to budge.  After tugging at two more carts I finally found one that would stroll with me and placed Meadow snugly in the seat.  I made my way into the store and fought the carts dysfunctional wheel as I pushed Meadow up and down the produce section of the store.  She babbled away and I only half listened while trying to recall all the items I had written on the imaginary list in my head.

As I turned from the produce section and walked toward the frozen food section I noticed an older (and most likely much wiser) woman pushing a dysfunctional and defiant cart of her own.  She walked down the other side of the same aisle and out of the corner of my eye I noticed her watching Meadow and I.  Meadow, unaware of her audience, babbled on and on and on while our carts met up in a parallel position.  As the woman and I passed each other with our ridiculous shopping carts our eyes met and she smiled.  Her smile was a sweet smile.  A kind smile.  I smiled back and I felt her cart slow even more as her head turned briefly and her eyes trailed after us.  I’m not sure what she was thinking but in my spirit I felt it must be something like this. . . enjoy these years with that little one–they go so fast.

Of course I have no way of knowing if that was really what she was thinking, but the feeling has stayed with me.  In my mind I can still see her face and I realize–we really aren’t that different.  I imagine that, to her, she was in my position just yesterday.  I imagine that just yesterday she had little ones at her feet and she wondered how she would ever survive it.  I imagine that, to her, just yesterday she was sleep deprived and longing for a break.  I imagine that, to her, just yesterday she felt like she had forever with her little ones and now she knows that ‘forever’ is so short. 

That tiny moment in the grocery aisle got me thinking.  It got me thinking about all the things I want to remember. . .

I want to remember the way it felt to have their dirty nailed hands grasped tightly around my fingers. . .

I want to remember the way he learned to read and the way he went from stuttering through books to speed reading through them.

I want to remember afternoon snacks at the kitchen table. . .

I want to remember neighborhood celebrations that came as soon as the echo of the ice cream tuck was heard from blocks away. . .

I want to remember intense rounds of ‘rock-paper-sissors’ on the front porch. . .

I want to remember the sight and smell of play-doh on the kitchen table. . .

. . . and chalk littering the driveway. . .

I want to remember the way Charlie and Chanelle always looked after their younger sister. . .

I want to remember the sounds of joyful voices screaming in our backyard. . .

Our turkey in in this photo. . .

I want to remember precious sister moments. . .

I want to remember evenings of togetherness. . .

I want to remember the way they adored being with Daddy. . .

I want to remember the way his hair fell in his eyes. . .

And how she was born a Mama. . .

And the way her eyes revealed her soul. . .

Oh, there is so much more, but I’ll save those for another day. . .

As I stood in that store, a few aisles down from the woman with the wise eyes, I imagined myself a few years down the road.  I imagined myself walking down the aisle of a grocery store and passing by a woman who has a baby tucked into the front seat of the cart, one in the back and one beside her.  I imagined myself watching her hang on by a thread as she balances the cries and antics of little ones and the list in her hands.  I imagined myself walking up to her, smiling, and gently telling her, enjoy these years. . . trust me, they go fast. . . She won’t want to hear it, I know, but I imagine that one day we all understand how fleeting these years really are. 

Have a Happy Weekend, Friends.