One of the littlest a few doors down drew a picture of me and baked me one perfect cookie. Since her drawing made me look like a fairy princess, I pretended that Lent was on hiatus and devoured that love-spiced cookie. I'm sure that's allowed, isn't it?
Before I knew it, my backyard was overrun with a lot of the neighborhood babes and their moms. I was in heaven.
It was so much fun to watch the moms. Some spritzed hand sanitizer like I would my Chanel. One wouldn't let her child climb my trees, and one couldn't get hers down. One talked more to her nanny than to her son.
I often wonder what kind of mom I'll someday be. I know they'll smell like freshly-baked cinnamon sugared bread and dirt and Clementines and my Chanel. I know we'll climb trees together and any other adventure we can dream up. I know that they'll be my favorite people with whom to talk from sunshine to moonshine.
The grandmother of the little one who drew me the picture walked down to my house a bit later than the rest, and I met her on the side of the house as she was coming into my backyard. She said my home was beautiful, but she wasn't even looking at it. And then she said something like "Looks like you're growing joy back here."
I thought about that all night and for the rest of my weekend, too. Growing joy. I love that idea. I need to grow some of my own, don't I?