The summer sun drifted down to us through the canopy of maple trees overhead. Out of school, and into everything two girls under ten could find in their backyard. Most notably, a shiny pair of high-heeled silver sandals. Advertisements
Endlessly ridiculed, openly mocked — the ubiquitous Soccer Mom holds her place in our society as often nothing more than a sounding board for ill-intentioned observations. Scorned for being too prepared, too eager, too helpful, too pretty and too nice, Soccer Mom shrugs off this derisive mantle and keeps going.
This is what happens when you have a sister.
I slid my plastic cup across the scuffed wooden table. Making room to open the playing board. Chairs scraped over the floor as my sister and a friend took their seats. The window behind the table open. Facing the front yard we’d just left.
His little hand, still with baby dimples for knuckles, nicked a pointy-edged Transformer from my grasp, and with a quick mix of spins and elbow grease turned it from a robot into a car. Officially marking one of the first moments I gave my husband, “the eyes.”
A good friend of mine shared with me the news she’s writing a book. And she’s so shy that to even have mentioned her peripherally in this post might be making her blush.
There comes a time, for each one of us, when we have enough. That time may slip by like silent petals released from a flower. Unnoticed. Quietly, in muted glory our enough time, faded away before we could hold it. But it was there.