Late-ish

I awoke to my doorbell ringing and looked at the time on my phone. It was terrifyingly 8:49: our train for Marseille left at 9:24. I opened the door to see my internship partner standing expectantly in the hallway. I must've been a sight in my pink-patterned pajamas, undone hair, and puffy sleep-eyes. I clearly wasn't ready for the day, and I spoke in English to top it all off.

"I just woke up."

As if she couldn't tell.

In a miracle of all miracles, we made it to the station at about 9:22. We took our seats on the train in relief and then watched as a family trooped in and sat down near us. Three little boys--10, 6, and 4 I would later hear--confidently took their seats and their mother followed after.

I tried to be covert as I watched and listened to the scene that played out as the train sped along. 6-year-old boy (after having chosen a seat behind his family next to a random guy) decided to take a different row all to himself, and played a game of pretend. The 10-year-old sat patiently in his seat across from his mom, quiet and polite. Little 4-year-old in the window seat sat quietly, too, moving only occasionally to put his head against his mother's ample shoulder. Despite my attempted subtlety, my gaze crossed hers twice or thrice, and we shared a grin each time. Her teeth were bright against her skin and her eyes were pleasant and content.

What a beautiful family. What a beautiful family. I felt blessed to watch their interactions during the one-hour ride: they were all full of love. Mom had to correct the boys every once in a while, sure. But how they smiled! How they enjoyed each other! That's what a family should do; that's how a family should be.

I'm glad we weren't late for the train. We would've missed them.

Mother-ish

"Are you busy? Stressed? You never texted me back after I sent you the video of Kate. Just making sure you are okay. :-)"

You've heard this before: It's a mother's job to worry. I don't believe it. Not one bit.

It's a mother's job to love--to love so hard that the problems of her children get absorbed into her own soul. It's not her job to worry. It's her job to love, and love makes her worry.

It's good that mothers worry because then we don't have to worry all by ourselves. This is especially helpful when we are young, teenager-ish, and very unable to hold so much worry (or responsibility) at once.

I wish she didn't have to worry. Because I am young and teenger-ish, though, I give her much cause to do so.

Cause to send me a sweet text on a Friday morning to make sure I am doing alright.

I'm doing fine, Mom. Because of you, I'm doing just fine.