I never thought a couple of words could make me so angry.
I wanted to scream, NO!
The whole thing was absurd, but it was actually said.
It was a peek into the culture war that is being fought, not with weapons but with words.

I am a woman.
I am a wife.
I am a mother.
I am a Grandma.

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This is the season of nests.
Even though the birds think they are hiding them, their nests can still be seen.
The nests are found as the birds fly back and forth.
It is not difficult to follow their path and know what is tucked among the branches.

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There is a place, a holy place that we tend to overlook.
Holy places are often quite ordinary.
Holy places are usually found among the common.
Something is holy simply because God sets it apart.

It was during my own prayer time that I thought about this holy place.
It was as I was praying for each of my children that it came to mind.
It was a place where I sat each night.
It was a place I never really considered holy until it was no longer a part of my daily routine.

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I ran into the ladies room before I continued my shopping.
I had been out for most of the afternoon.
I still had quite a few errands to run before I headed home.
Other women must have had the same idea.

Every stall was occupied except one that was way down at the end.
There is a certain bathroom etiquette.
You may smile at someone as you are both standing at the sink.
You usually do not converse with them.

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I saw the mother and son as I was walking into the store.
He was talking a mile a minute.
He was explaining something about Star Wars to his mother.
She was not saying any words; she just made simple sounds of agreement as he continued.

I had no idea what the little boy was talking about.
I have seen most of the Star Wars movies; however, I am not an aficionado.
I was smiling as I watched them.
I remember conversations like that when my boys were young.

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I spent the day with my granddaughter. She reached for my knees. It reminded me of this Whisper that I published in May, 2013.

I saw her pirouetting around the room.
Sh was obviously trying to pass the time while her mother was shopping.
I almost envied her abandon.

She was wearing a twirly skirt, which she obviously loved to wear, as she danced.
She had rain boots on her feet, not the ballet slippers I would have imagined.
She was carefree, not yet affected by the whims of the world.

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Anything done with a toddler takes more time to accomplish.
A mother has to factor that extra time into her schedule.
A toddler wants to be a helper.
That word helper should be placed in quotation marks.

It is hard to predict how a toddler will act in a new situation.
It is sometimes hard to predict how a toddler will act in a familiar situation.
Even the best mother cannot say for sure which things might make her child afraid.
Things she thinks will be a problem are not; while things that should not be a problem, are.

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I remember ice skating when I was a girl.
I skated on a small lake with the family for whom I used to babysit.
I skated at an indoor rink as well.
I could never do fancy twists and turns, but I enjoyed ice skating all the same.

I used to love to roller skate.
I had the kind of skates that were metal and fit over my shoes.
The skates came with a key, which I used to tighten them if needed.
I wore the key around my neck on a string.

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Only a mother knows the tear, the silent one that falls,
Only a mother knows for sure, the reason for it all.

Only a mother knows the pain, and hand and hand, the joy.
Only a mother knows the kiss of her precious little boy.

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Every day, there is some sort of communication on our family thread.
News, check-ins, and funny stories someone saw or read are shared.
Often, when my phone is on silent, I will check it later to see that there are 20 texts.
A whole conversation happened while I was away from my phone.

Early morning is best, since everyone is likely to see the text in real time.
The other morning a text came that I cherish.
My children have nicknames for each other: their initial and part of our last name.
The baby my daughter-in-love is carrying is affectionately called, Baby B-Gall, after his daddy.

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