A family, that we love and are very close to, has four boys.
Those boys spent a lot of time in our home.
I enjoyed watching them when their mother had things to do.
I enjoyed seeing their Lego creations and the way they played with our toys.

I was thinking of the boys the other day, remembering something sweet they used to do.
We all went to the same church during those years.
There was always a time of greeting at the beginning of the service.
It was then they did something from their heart that still brings a smile to my face.

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I heard them in the dressing room across from me.
How does this look, Mom? A young girl’s voice asked.
It makes you look fat, her mother answered.
Hearing those words was as if someone punched me.

Perhaps the outfit was not flattering on her daughter.
There had to be another way to say it.
There had to be another way to get her point across.
There was no kindness in the mother’s voice.

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My youngest daughter and I had a lunch date planned.
We were trying a restaurant that we had never been to before.
It was an organic, farm to table restaurant.
It was our kind of place.

We talked about all sorts of wonderful things.
I love one-on-one time with my children so I can really hear their hearts.
I love that one-on-one time with my in-loves as well, whenever I get the chance.
I look forward to that same kind of time with my grandchildren when they get older.

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I was looking for a dress for an upcoming summer wedding.
I tried a few on.
I settled on one in particular.
It is pale pink and is exactly what I was hoping to find.

I saw her hanging clothes on the racks.
I saw her fixing clothes that other people had disheveled a bit.
She is always working hard every time I see her.
I said, Hi, to her.

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I heard their voices as I waited in line.
The voices were not angry as much as they were intense.
Each person was trying to make their point.
Neither one seemed to be listening to the other.

All the commotion was at the customer service desk.
It was obvious there was a vast difference of opinion.
The contention was over money.
The problem seemed to be over discounts and savings.

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We have to switch our pronouns.
We have to change just one word to make a difference.
What if we had a counter that tallied how many times we say the pronoun, I?
What if we were intentional and switched the pronoun, I, to the pronoun, you?

It is easy to think of me first.
It is easy to think about the path of least resistance.
It is easy to make changes so that things go smooth sailing for us.
Is that always the best way?

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It was time.
A few times a year I get the little crock on the laundry room counter.
I wait until the crock is almost full.
I head to the store that has the machine.

My little crock on the laundry room counter holds loose change.
When the change compartment of my wallet gets too full, I put the overflow in the crock.
I leave four quarters, three dimes, and three nickels in my wallet.
My youngest daughter laughed when she saw me do that since that is what she does as well.

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The pollen has been awful this spring.
I notice it when I am outside weeding or using the leaf blower on the driveway.
My husband is really suffering with his allergies.
The regular, over-the-counter allergy medicine he usually takes is not working.

I had a few suggestions that might work better.
I knew he would not want to rely on the natural, holistic things I take when I need them.
There are times when something stronger is necessary.
This was one of those times.

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I remember my mother taking me shopping for a new Easter dress.
Sometimes, we found the dress right away.
Other times, we had to go to quite a few stores before finding the right one.
There was no online shopping back then.

It was not uncommon to go to three or four stores.
When I was a young girl, we shopped at single stores since there were no malls yet.
We often took the train to the city.
There were many stores within walking distance and we would stop for lunch as well.

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They knocked on the door ever so gently.
I was expecting them.
A sweet young mom and her three children were coming over for the morning.
I got out toys that I thought the children would enjoy.

I answered the door, knowing that one of the children did the knocking.
I was greeted with smiling faces.
The oldest boy, who is seven-years-old, handed me a bouquet of flowers from their yard.
Daffodils and hyacinths were wrapped with a damp paper towel.

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