Blackberry Season

Woo hoo! Look at me because I am on fire! Two posts within a week. Must be a record.

I was actually going back over my last post and realized it sounded a little down. Yes, motherhood can be full of burn out, lack of rest, whining (from you and the kids), but, then, there are those moments-the ones that sneak up on us unexpectedly - a soft brush of the face by your toddler's hand at bedtime, watching your little one bow their head for prayer, the unfiltered joy in your baby's face when you reach to pick them up...

These are the moments that mommies remember when their kids grow up and leave. It explains why any older mom in a ten mile radius always wants to hold my baby. One sniff of the baby smell and some sweet memory dimmed by time comes wafting back.

Memories are a precious gift. As I mentioned before, time does not stop, but it can in our mind like the first scene in "Father of the Bride" when Steve Martin is listening to his fully grown daughter tell him she is engaged, yet he only sees the young girl he raised. Will I see the same things?

All this rambling was brought on by a long forgotten poem I quickly sketched out after an afternoon spent with my sister and her son at my parent's farm. Our only kids at the time were both about 18 months, and blackberry season was in full swing. Their excitement over the little bitter berries as they popped them in their mouths was priceless. The day ended with all of us pleasantly squished on the porch swing singing songs ranging from "Jesus Loves Me" to "America the Beautiful."

There are times when experience surpasses the language to describe it. I'll just let the poem explain the afternoon.

Blackberry Season


dimpled hands
with plump fingers
eagerly reaching for more
dandelion explosions
beneath stained puckered lips
an afternoon
sprinkled with gold dust



An afternoon sprinkled with gold dust...