Sometimes I worry about the little treats, the dollar rack gifts that get us through Target without even one little complaint. The pack of truck stickers at Rite Aid just because. Or the candy corn that gets us out the door in a hurry, because you just can’t be late for those doctor appointments.
Am I spoiling them? Do the little treats add up to a big giant mess? Do they know when to say when?
They love to check the mail, these sweet kids of mine. They run to the front door the very minute that the shadow of the mail carrier appears through the beveled glass.
It’s here! It’s here! Let’s check the mail!
Apart from birthdays and holidays, it’s rarely for them. Bills, magazines, and catalogues clutter the box day after day, but rarely do the little ones find their names on the letters.
So, just the other day, it was a huge treat to find a large box addressed to them sitting by the front the door.
Open it, please! Who is it from? What’s in that big box?
Mimi, of course. The frequent sender of the large boxes taped so thoroughly that it takes more than a pair of dull scissors to pry them open.
It looks like it’s from Mimi, my loves. She must be missing you.
They stop and consider this thought, realizing that this is probably true.
I wish Mimi lived here.
I wish we lived at Mimi’s.
We pause for a hug before we get back to the task at hand. Behind us, the sun is quickly making its exit…