This Quiet House...

“What is a mother?”

That was the title of a poem my daughter wrote me last year. In the process of doing some cleaning-out this weekend, I happened upon it again.

“A mother is someone who takes care of people,” the first line read.

And, at a glance, that sentence made me sigh.

Yes. A mother does take care of people. All the time.

I read that and thought about things like cooking and doing laundry and cleaning up the house. And as much fun as I had with my kids last week, that sentence reminded me that I was ready for school to start so I'd have more time to write and get things done.

But here I am today, alone in the house.

And I’m thinking…

About my son—my youngest—who, as much as I can’t believe it, is in second grade. And about my daughter, now in fourth grade, on a new playground. In a much bigger class.

And I wonder why I was so ready to have them back in school.

I can faintly hear their recess bell ring a few blocks away. And I’m picturing them in their new classes...my son, thoughtful and a little shy until he gets to know you. And then he becomes silly.

And my daughter, sweet and eager and social. And a little too hard on herself.

I’m thinking about all the things they’ll learn as they grow. The good times they’ll have, and the challenges they’ll face.

And in these still moments without them--without the laughter and constant singing and running around--the house seems awfully quiet.

And it reminds me how fast time is flying.

As I type this, trying to see the keyboard through watery eyes, I think about that question in my daughter’s poem, “What is a mother?”…

And I’m struck by the awesome privilege of knowing the answer.

Because of those two precious kids.

And the gift of being their mom.