Last night, as I drove to my weekly open-mic (as close to a notion of "church" as I'll get), my headlights lit the road brightly before me, and yet there was a less discernible glow coming from mysef as well.
asked one of my sons if he'd replace a burned-out headlight bulb, and he not only did it,
but taught my other son ( who is not quite the handy-man type) how to do
it as well. And that made me beam, a bit, the notion of my path being
lit by a collaboration of my sons.
And yes, the poet in
me wants to haul out all the metaphors for a mother lighting the way
for her children, but I'll refrain. Yes, as mothers we do that,
instinctually. Not necessarily as instinctual for one's offspring to pay
back the favor. Hoped for, yes, but not expected.
was a small thing, but made all the more meaningful upon my return,
close to midnight, driving the mostly-unlit lake route back to my house.
So lucky to have two sons!