About a mom’s “stash” of love

Sometimes I run.
No. Not from myself.
Because, no matter how hard I try, that persistent “me” catches up, no matter how far I run.
And before the suitcases are even unpacked, it taps my temple with a tiny finger, reminding me that the plan to leave “me” at home didn’t work again.

I run.
No. Not to be alone with myself.
Because?
I don’t even know if I like myself enough to want to be “just the two of us.”

Sometimes I run.
Not from home.
Not from work.
Not from my husband.
Not from everyday life.
I don’t run from something.
I run to somewhere.
Somewhere the constant roar of daily life fades.
And in its place comes silence.
Where the perfect chance arises
to listen to the one
you love deeply.
Every day.

But maybe, sometimes, a sadder glance gets lost in the flood of tasks?
Maybe a softer word goes unheard?
Maybe a stranger gesture goes unnoticed?
Maybe your hands are too busy for hugs?
Maybe your eyes are too often lost in the computer, the phone, the dinner pot?
Maybe your ears are clogged with responsibilities and can no longer catch the frequency of “I need you”?

Then I run.
Hand outstretched to someone.
From the everyday “heroes.”

Because I firmly believe, as every child’s heart knows:
“Yes. ONE mom is all of ours.
BUT how wonderful it is when she is just MY ONE.”

Or maybe a mother’s love is like a bottomless bag of sweets?
So full that there’s enough to share with everyone.
But.
Sometimes.
Occasionally.
You just need to grab that bag.
And, even knowing you can’t eat it all yourself—
Enjoy having it all for yourself.
Without sharing.
Just yours.

Our now-traditional little escape with Pa—successful.
At the end of our “getaway,” we chattered about the waiting brothers and how we’ll grab our beloved long-nosed E.
The candy of love has been eaten.
The miracle is
that the amount hasn’t diminished—we carry it all back home.

Here’s to us, the “candy shop” moms,
V.