It’s Just Beginning

I put clean sheets on my bed this morning, but not my daughter’s. It’s the little things that reveal our lives are separating. We raise them to be independent, but frown when they’re independent with Momma. Today, I smiled.

I’m happy my daughter is 20 years old.

My ‘raising her’ days are over, but she’s still watching. She watches how I live my life and listens to the words I say. I haven’t stopped striving to be the hero she saw at age five, but now I get to be both our heroes. Where some Mother’s feel their life is over once the kiddo’s are grown, I feel my life is just beginning.

Granted, it’s the second half of life. I’m 55 years old and single, but I’m happy. This new year/decade I’ll discover so many thing about myself, including who I want to be.

The possibilities are endless.

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I encourage you to live your life.

Just because they’re grown and gone doesn’t mean life stands still. No my darling, for Momma’s of adult children, it’s just beginning.

Teach Them Kindness

My daughter’s Jeep got hit, but it can take it.

She was pulling into a parking lot with a car in front of us. There was plenty of parking, but the car in front decided to park at the same time as my daughter. They pulled into a space side by side. The stranger’s passenger door flung open before either car was fully parked.

It was a child in a hurry to exit.

Her car door hit my daughter’s Jeep.

My daughter was angry, but not because the Jeep was hit. It was because the little girl was in a hurry. This could have been more than a scratch.

The little girls face showed remorse and terror as soon as it happened, but the mother was a different story all together. She was prepared with anger, but I diffused with kindness.

“I didn’t even see you”, she said.

Were we hidden from view?

She had a car full of girls. Life is distracting.

It was an accident, but “I’m sorry”, was left unsaid.

This is what hurt my daughter the most.

The little girl thought we’d be mad, not sad.

The Jeep was made for this, but not the hearts.

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