Don't Ask!

When I was kid, and asked (by my Mother) about my school day, I tended to say very little. Once the school day had passed, I was ready to get on with the NEXT part of my day – which involved doing homework or going outside to play or finding a quiet spot to read (and avoid doing after-school chores).

And while my day may have been filled with an abundance of good things (and things not so good), I needed some down time. 

From the moment I stepped off the school bus and walked into the house, my brain was churning with all sorts of ideas, remembered conversations, imagined (and real) slights and reminders of the many tasks that needed to be done (and by when). By the time, my Mother greeted me as I walked into the kitchen, I absolutely did not want to be charitable and engage in yet ANOTHER conversation.

I needed to clear my head ... needed time to be alone ... needed time to simply enjoy the peace of not being surrounded by a lot of people.

But when my need to share (what was on my mind or in my heart) was great – I watched and waited for the right time to approach my mom. I wanted to be sure I had her full attention – when she was not distracted by the demands of maintaining a home, being a wife, answering the call of a neighbor or attending to the needs of my siblings.

Fortunately, I had a mom who seemed to intuitively know when I was "ready" to talk.

Sometimes those conversations occurred when we were alone in the car ... preparing the evening dinner ... doing laundry. These were special moments for me ... the times when I had my mom all to myself ... when I didn't have to share her with anyone ... when I knew that I was her most important priority.

And then I talked.

But sometimes my readiness to "talk" erupted right at bedtime, as Mom tucked the covers under my chin, gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, and brushed the hair off my forehead. She'd remind me to say my prayers and end our bedtime ritual with, "I love you honey. Have sweet dreams tonight".

And then, when I began to talk about all the important things (both the good and the bad) ... 

Mom listened.

I often think of the children who have no one to listen.