Mothers


A friend gave me 5 boxes of clothes for Conal the other night. After bringing them inside this morning, it took about 3 minutes for things to unravel. And now we have this:

He went wild with the clothes. He pulled them out of the boxes with a speed normally reserved for shoving Craisins in his mouth. He threw them into piles and then gathered piles into his arms and threw them up in the air. He rolled in the clothes. Put them on his head and walked around in circles. Fell into the piles.

He had fun. And I can’t really argue with that.

You give moms a good name. Sorta make up for the lousy ones at the playground.

I love your friendly ways. Like how you smile when I put my mat down next to your blanket. Or, how you come up to me and say, “Hi. How are you?” when you are someone I met last time at the beach, albeit briefly.

I also love how you baby talk to my toddler when he toddles over to you and offers you his shovel or, as the case may be, a Tootsie Roll* wrapper. It’s just so sweet. And so unlike your evil playground counterparts.

Yes, Internet, I know. A strong mama would get over the Playground Incident. I’m working on it. Right now, I’m reveling in the love of the beach mamas. And trying not to think of the others.

Thank you.

And good night.

* No. I do not feed my child Tootsie Rolls. He found the wrapper on the ground. Next to the sad, dirty Barbie doll leg. I’m as surprised as you are that he chose the candy wrapper over the leg. The leg was even wearing a pink shoe.