scribblechic

I was watching you today, in the time between our polite waves and small talk; the way you leaned into your phone like the weight of worries and tired limbs could find peace in the voice at the other end of your call. I know something of your days, there isn’t enough room between our homes for me to feign ignorance. Our community is so small that it is unavoidable we share one another’s imperfect experiences.

Just yesterday another mother confided one of your children had struggled a bit that morning at camp. I imaged your son pushing against the rules, restless and challenging. I know the size of the smile that comes when he settles into familiar boundaries in the same way I know the volume at which he fights discontent.

I don’t have any words of wisdom, but today I had this thought: I hope that you find more voices of comfort. Raising children is hard work, something that brings us both a sense of purpose and the risk of judgement. Too many times we assume knowledge of others’ lives and we miss an opportunity to exercise compassion in place of criticism.

I’ve seen you correct your children and hold them; I see your love and I want you to know that I do not measure your mistakes. I hope our home’s new owners will see the same and, perhaps, offer you greater friendship than we found between our front doors. That you may gain a new place to lean.